A Fine Line
by Chapucera
Summary: A traumatic first encounter leaves Christine with nothing but hatred in her heart for Erik. Is it true, though, that only a fine line separates love from hate?
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings, All, and welcome to my second story! This one may not be quite as fluffy as "World´s Shortest Courtship" was, because I wanted to explore the concept of an Erik and Christine who are, quite frankly, at war with each other. **

**Anyhow, without further ado:**

**I do not own POTO, or any of its characters.**

* * *

Christine Daaé sat quietly with her job application in hand, waiting for the restaurant manager to appear. She was nervous now – this was the third and final interview she had scheduled for today.

_The third today….__How many employers have turned me down this week? Nine, so far. And last week? About twelve, if I count the ones who simply wouldn´t talk to me. _

Christine dropped her application in her lap and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. No one could ever guess how important this interview was to her. The position she sought was humble enough – she wished to be a waitress, nothing more. Yet she needed the work, desperately.

There was something else, too. A terrible suspicion had worried her during the past two weeks, and was quickly hardening into conviction.

_I have an enemy._

One last chance. One final opportunity to prove that she had not been blacklisted. Christine had refused to give up hope.

The door to the office opened abruptly, and a balding man of about sixty appeared. He beamed in approval when he saw Christine, and she stood and offered him her hand in as professional a manner as she could muster, despite her nerves.

"Well! Andrea told me that someone wanted to talk to me…about our waitperson job, I believe? She says you have experience? Miss….?" The man finished, obviously searching for a name.

"I´m so happy to meet you, Mr. Stewart," Christine responded. "Yes, I do have experience. Several years´, in fact. I have good references, too…"

Christine fell silent as Mr. Stewart took her application from her and glanced at her name. She observed a sudden paleness in his complexion.

"Miss…Day," he said, nearly croaking, and licked his lips nervously.

Christine ignored the mispronunciation of her surname and waited.

"Miss Day, I would love to hire you under other circumstances, but the position has been filled, I´m afraid," Mr. Stewart said quickly. He would no longer look at her.

Christine refused to abandon hope. This person, at least, was not ushering her out the door yet.

"Mr. Stewart, surely you could use another waitress now that summer´s over. Just call Mr. Diaz, my last employer, and he´ll tell you – I´m excellent at the job, I never call in sick or miss a day. Please…."

Mr. Stewart had walked back to the door and was slowly opening it, inviting Christine to leave.

_He must have a conscience. He can´t even look at me,_ Christine mused bitterly as she exited the office.

She turned back suddenly, though, and Mr. Stewart could not help it – Christine caught his eye.

"Why?" she asked him, imploringly. She was asking for a name. _My enemy´s name._

"I don´t dare," he mumbled nervously, dropping his eyes and fidgeting with his hands.

Yet Christine knew, even as she watched him. They were all the same – pale and nervous, ready to flee, hoping she would just disappear, just please go away. Mr. Stewart was no different. He knew that Christine Daaé had been blacklisted by a powerful man.

_Erik __DeJongh._

* * *

Christine waited at the bus stop, lost in her thoughts. Anger battled bewilderment.

_Why? What could I possibly have done to deserve this? And why would such an important man bother to blacklist someone as unimportant as I am?_

She thought back to the fateful evening of her encounter with Carla Forleo. The famous mezzosoprano had descended upon the Roma, the cozy Italian restaurant where Christine worked, bedecked in stylish fuchsia satin and trendy Manolos. It had been a Tuesday evening, and she was overdressed, of course; the Roma was a restaurant near the university campus, and it was by no means upscale. People came for the bohemian atmosphere, not for the cuisine, and Forleo´s gown simply did not fit her surroundings. She seemed irritated by this and generally ill-tempered that evening. When she was offered the finest table in the house by Roberto, who did his best bowing and scraping, she snapped at him.

Where did the lady wish to sit, then? Ms. Forleo chose the darkest corner in the entire establishment, with a table for two which generally served as a last resort when the restaurant was overcrowded on Friday and Saturday nights. This table was the worst of all their battered tables, and Christine had watched as Wendy, the diva´s unfortunate waitress, stuffed a bit of newspaper under one of its legs to balance it.

Jolene approached Christine and glanced in Ms. Forleo´s direction.

"I´m not singing with _her _around," she muttered, hand on hip.

Christine understood. The Roma was famous for its singing waiters – usually impoverished voice majors like her who worked for the generous tips bestowed upon them by a sentimental, middle-class clientele. It was ironic, but the few rich people who had ever blundered into the Roma had always tipped poorly, if at all. Christine could tell by glancing at Ms. Forleo that no tip would be forthcoming. Indeed, poor Wendy would be lucky to survive her, she thought with a twinge of sympathy. She risked a quick glance in her direction: the diva was noisily complaining to poor Wendy, who was busily nodding and changing the flatware for her.

To sing in the presence of such a temperamental diva was a daunting prospect, indeed, but it was time for a song, and the other clients were glancing toward the piano expectantly.

"_You _do it!" hissed Wendy as she passed Christine on her way to the kitchen, frustration evident in her every step.

Jolene nodded and gave Christine a slight push. Of all the waiters at the Roma, Christine was the most popular, and it was she who received the most requests – and the most tips. "The voice of an angel," gushed the most drunken clients in describing her talents, and she would blush. She always blushed.

Christine approached the piano. John was seated there, waiting. He had been playing random pop selections, mostly Billy Joel, with an amused eye on the drama that had been playing out in the restaurant´s darkest corner.

"If I Loved You," murmured John: a request. Selections from "Carousel" had been very popular lately, for some reason, and two diners at a table nearby beamed as Christine launched into their song. As she sang, she could feel rather than see Ms. Forleo´s baleful stare on her. _Well, let her criticize me! I can take it_, thought Christine defiantly.

No criticism came when Christine finished, however. Everyone except Ms. Forleo duly applauded, and the diva simply stared pensively into her wine glass.

Jolene and Wendy lost their fear of singing and duly took their turns beside the piano as Christine bustled about and waited her tables. As she glanced towards Ms. Forleo´s table, she paused. The diva now had a dinner companion.

He was barely discernible within the darkness. As Christine looked, she noticed that the one candle on the table had been snuffed out, yet her curiosity compelled her, and she strained to see the man´s figure. He was slender, she could tell, yet manly and elegantly dressed. His dark suit, too formal for his surroundings, blended into the background, and the paleness of his flesh stood out in sharp relief. Not that his hands were bare – he wore black leather gloves, as though he were about to leave, and his long fingers caressed the stem of his wine glass restlessly. He was ill at ease, Christine could tell. It was the paleness of his face which most surprised her, and with a thrill of sudden discovery, she realized that he wore a bone-white mask. It covered half his face and gave it a sullen, scowling expression. The other half of his face was handsome, but in a haggard way which suggested that he had known great suffering.

Ms. Forleo was fawning on him shamelessly, her truculence forgotten. When her companion looked at her, however, he seemed to look _through _her. He appeared to be suffering through the evening with a preoccupied air, and he ate nothing and barely tasted his wine. At one point, Ms. Forleo touched his arm, and he reacted as if she had slapped him – Christine actually heard him _hiss _at her.

"Woolgathering, Christine?" asked Roberto, smiling. That was her cue to move herself, and she did so. After she had finished serving her tables, and a lull arrived, it was her turn to sing. She moved toward John, who was waggling a finger at her, beckoning her comically.

Suddenly, something…_somebody_…collided with Christine, causing her to lose her balance and land, sprawling, on the floor. She heard the sudden murmur of the shocked restaurant patrons, and above that, a scream.

"You did that on purpose!" Carla Forleo was screeching. Christine was stunned; it took a moment for her to realize that the diva was screaming at _her. _She managed to stand shakily, bruised and still struggling to understand what had just happened.

"Get off my dress, you idiot!" bellowed the mezzo, and Christine realized that she was now standing on the hem of an ample satin dress. Who would wear a gown like that to the Roma?

"I want you out! Out of my sight! You and your ghastly croaking! Where is the manager? Where is he?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Christine could see Roberto approaching nervously.

A beautiful voice cut through the confusion – so beautiful, yet so icy and contemptuous that something within Christine recoiled.

"What seems to be the trouble here, Miss Forleo, and why do you wish to expose yourself in this undignified manner?"

Ms. Forleo´s dinner companion was hovering near her, his disgust evident. Christine noticed now that he was exceedingly tall, but it was his eyes which now captured her attention. They seemed to glow with a cold, hellish light. Sudden terror gripped her. He was looking at her now, and his eyes were unrelenting. Never had she felt such hatred – not directed at herself, necessarily, no – simply _within_ _him,_ roiling about and ready to harm. Somehow she sensed that this man was evil in some way, and capable of great violence. Yet his gaze left her shaking but physically untouched, and he turned his irritated attention to Ms. Forleo.

"_That_ was certainly an admirable tackle! Are you satisfied? Why, may I ask, does an artist such as yourself feel such antipathy towards an insect like _that_?" he spat, his elegant hand, still gloved, gesturing languidly toward Christine. His voice conveyed gelid contempt.

Christine felt her cheeks burning and her heart hammering. Wanton shame spurred her to action, and she fled to the refuge of the kitchen, where she managed to contain her tears. Every now and then a dry sob would escape her, but to outward appearances, she was simply hyperventilating.

"Asthma," she said breathlessly to those who looked at her and murmured their concern.

She had learned to mask her sorrows well enough by now. Life had taught her that much. Steeling herself once more, she prepared to leave the kitchen and continue working. She was stopped at the door by Roberto.

"Christine," he said, searching her face for tears. He was nervous, but Christine´s apparent calm seemed to lend him enough courage to continue with what he had to say.

"Do you know who that was?" he asked.

"Of course," Christine replied. "Everyone knows Carla Forleo…"

"I don´t mean _her,_" interrupted Roberto quickly. "That … _man _who was with her. Do you have any idea who he is?"

Christine certainly had no idea, and simply looked at Roberto in expectant silence.

Roberto sighed.

"That was Erik DeJongh. Have you heard of him?"

Another blank look from Christine.

"He is one of the most powerful men in this city, and that´s understating it. He´s an investor, technically, but he dabbles in other things. You obviously haven´t been keeping up with the news, Christine, and it´s hard to describe exactly _what _this man is. They say he´s a genius. They say he´s connected, really well-connected. He has the city council in his pocket, but not just that. He has underworld connections, too, and he´s been involved in more than one vendetta, but he never ends up dead – other guys always do.

"He´s creepy, Christine. He has a thing for the arts, especially music. He´s into architecture, too. You know the new Convention Center?"

Christine nodded, brightening slightly. She had often admired the new Convention Center as she passed it on her bicycle. Its architecture was extraordinary.

"Well, they say DeJongh finished it himself," continued Roberto. "The original architect, Jim Dolan, was dead set on a different design entirely, and he and DeJongh argued. Then Dolan just disappeared. They say he was murdered, but his body was never found, so no one was ever charged, but everyone knows…"

"Roberto, I can´t say this isn´t very interesting, but why are you telling me all this?" interrupted Christine impatiently. "I have to get back to work!"

She started out the door, but Roberto grasped her elbow, stopping her.

"Christine," he said gently, "I have been told that you can no longer work here. Please understand. You have offended Ms. Forleo, and she´s a …very close friend…of Erik DeJongh…"

Christine stood, her blank face belying the turmoil she felt within.

"Even Mr. DeJongh knows that that woman ran into me on purpose, though Lord knows why! I was minding my own business, Roberto! I didn´t do anything!"

Roberto shook his head sadly, silently.

"I need this job, Roberto, please…What can I do to fix things? I´ll do what it takes to make things right with Ms. Forleo…"

"No, Christine. No!" said Roberto firmly. "The message was clear. Do you think I want this? You´re one of my best workers ever, and our clients just love you! How am I going to explain things to them once you´re gone?

"But I can´t risk this restaurant, and, forgive me, but I don´t want to risk my own neck over this! In case you haven´t noticed, Honey, I´m scared shitless! Look, you can always get another job. I´ll give you a glowing reference…"

"Thanks a lot for everything, Roberto, and screw you," spat Christine. Roberto remained silent as she removed her apron, gathered her things together, and left the Roma for the last time.

* * *

That had been over two weeks ago. Now she certainly knew who Erik DeJongh was, and she hated him on principle.

Christine reviewed her situation as she sat on the bus. She had 45 dollars left to her name now and very little left to sell. Soon she would be evicted from her apartment, and there was a waiting list for dormitory space. Eventually she became tired of thinking, her mind running through the same problems repeatedly, as a mouse runs through a maze. She watched absently through the bus window as the painted-brick buildings of factories slid by, followed by the glass-paned windows of the office buildings of the business district. The bus stopped. Passengers descended, struggling with bags and briefcases, and a young man in a business suit got on. Christine continued to gaze blankly out the window, unaware of the new arrival, until she heard him arguing with the bus driver.

"…what I don´t understand is _why _you don´t have change for a fifty-dollar bill – it´s legal tender, isn´t it?"

"Sir, I can´t carry change for any bill over a twenty, and I carry less after dark. If you don´t mind my asking, did you just fall from a tree? I mean…I mean…" floundered the bus driver in tones of exasperated patience.

"How about a credit card, then?"

"A _credit card?_ Sir, this is a municipal _bus!_"

Christine bolted out of her seat and flew to the front of the bus.

"I´ll cover his fare," she said, proffering her bus pass. "He´s a friend of mine."

She turned to the young man, who was regarding her with a puzzled expression.

"Raoul," she said softly. "It´s you, isn´t it, Raoul?"

Their reunion was awkward at first. She and Raoul de Chagny had been separated by more than time, more than the six years which had passed. Her childhood friend was wearing a tailored suit, silk tie, and expensive leather shoes. That much Christine could discern. She knew how untutored she was in the world of designer labels – a more worldly woman would have been able to recite all the names associated with every article of clothing Raoul wore – down, doubtless, to his socks and underwear. She imagined the impression she made on a man like Raoul, with her discount-rack skirt, her go-with-everything white blouse, her second-hand earrings, and her self-inflicted haircut.

"I was sorry to hear about your father, Christine," Raoul said, as the conversation finally began to flow more easily. "I wanted to call you, but I didn´t have your number or even your address…"

"That´s okay, Raoul," replied Christine. "I´m surprised the news even reached you, really…"

"How long has it been? A year now?"

"Yes, it´s been a year," Christine murmured, wishing for a change of subject. _A happy release,_ her neighbors had called her father´s death. There had been nothing happy about it for Christine, though.

"So, what´s an important lawyer like you doing on a grungy city bus?" asked Christine. A passenger across the aisle from her shot her a resentful glare.

"I´m in a bind. My car´s in the shop today, and I need to get to Sunnydale to check on my great-aunt. Am I on the right bus?" he asked worriedly.

"Relax, this one will get you to Sunnydale in about 25 minutes. Do you still live in Bellavista? Because if you do, you´ll want to take the Number 3 to return…"

"I´ll call a cab," returned Raoul dryly. "And what are _you _doing riding on this grungy bus?"

"Looking for a job," Christine sighed. "I can´t say I´m having much luck, though."

Raoul looked at her in an odd, calculating sort of way.

"I believe I might be able to help you," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**My humblest thanks to those kind souls who have reviewed!**

**I appreciate the anonymous reviews as well, though I can´t respond to them. Many thanks!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

_So, today´s the big day, _thought Gemma Valerius as she watched Christine put herself together.

"What about my hair?" asked Christine, uncertainly.

"Leave it loose. There will be men present at this audition, no?" said Gemma, and Christine turned to her, laughing.

"Auntie Val!" she said, in mock reproach. She left her hair loose, however, with only a pair of silver clips to subjugate its soft waves.

"Your ´crowning glory,´" murmured Gemma.

_The ugly duckling has certainly become a beautiful swan, _she thought admiringly and with a touch of nostalgia.

This incarnation of Christine – the beautiful, self-assured young lady – bore no resemblance to the nineteen-year-old adolescent who had turned up at her doorstep with her nephew Raoul some three years ago. That gawkish creature had since disappeared -- had transformed. Gemma tried to recall an image of the younger Christine: She had been nineteen, it was true, but she had looked to be much younger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen. She had had no discernible figure, and she was so thin that her bones seemed to jut out. Her hair had been cropped short, which made her face look too angular, and her large blue eyes had looked enormous. And she had been nervous constantly.

Now, however – oh, _now! _What a glorious time it was for her Christine! No daughter could be dearer to her, and the young woman´s beauty was a point of reckless maternal pride.

It was easy for Gemma to forget that she and Christine had gotten off to a rocky start all those years ago. Christine had been foisted on her, _foisted! _And her thoughtless nephew had known it and had not cared. She had had a broken ankle. What use was a scrawny adolescent to her? _Caregiver! _A _caregiver _might have been a muscular woman of thirty or so, but not this emaciated creature who clearly needed to be cared for herself!

Yet Christine had proven herself, had worked like a mule, and little by little she and Gemma had come to understand each other.

Gemma´s ankle had healed well, and she no longer needed a Caregiver, but she had grown to need Christine, and she refused to let her go. The two had lapsed into a comfortable routine, Christine with her studies, Gemma with her own diverse interests.

And, finally, here they were. Christine had graduated with honors, and the prestigious Modern Opera and Ballet had conceded her an audition, something only a select few graduates attained.

"Wish me luck!" said Christine as she ran out the door, an eye on her watch and a briefcase in hand.

Gemma held up a hand as if to stop her or perhaps wave her out the door, but Christine flew out of the house without a backwards glance.

* * *

The Modern Opera was a graceful yet imposing building, all granite and marble in impossible arches and curves. It spoke of Art aspiring to be sublime, heavenly even, and a young auditioner certainly found this daunting. The auditorium within was even more frightening. Its crimson seats were filled with competing musicians, each exuding unlimited self-confidence. Had Christine had greater experience with people, she might have recognized this confidence as a false façade and forgotten her fear. She looked about the concert hall, but she could not recognize a single familiar face. People were conversing quietly in klatches, and from time to time someone would steal a speculative glance at her.

An eternity passed before the woman with a clipboard finally called her, scowling at the name printed on the list: "Ms. Christine….Dah-yay?"

Christine was shown into a large rehearsal room, where she handed her selected piece, "Se tu m´ami, se sospiri," to the accompanist. She scarcely glanced at the judges assembled at the side of the room, as nervous as she was, until she heard one of their voices rise above the murmurings of the others.

"Well, you can do it, and you can do it now! You can simply tell this Day person to leave right now – I´ve heard enough about her already! We don´t want anyone like her on the chorus – I _refuse _to work with her!"

Carla Forleo stood and faced Christine now. The room was cool, yet she was perspiring visibly. She seemed beside herself with rage.

"I think you heard me, Honey! You can just march out that door right now!"

"My audition…" started Christine, stunned. She had never expected to encounter Carla Forleo doing something so lowly as supervising auditions.

"You needn´t bother with yours!" snarled Ms. Forleo.

Christine appeared ready to retort, but instead, she started to sing the first few bars of her audition piece unaccompanied, putting as much brio into her effort as possible.

"Silence! Right now!" screeched Ms. Forleo. "Do you want me to call Security, you talentless hack?"

"You can call them, then, if you want, you bovine blowhard!" snarled Christine, her eyes blazing, her fear long forgotten. She turned to the judges, who were sitting in stunned silence, watching the spectacle.

"I was called to this audition. I have dedicated time and effort on preparing it, and now I´m forced to leave. Is this how you people usually behave?" asked Christine, squaring her shoulders.

The response was a confused silence and an exchange of glances. Christine gathered up her sheet music and stormed out the door.

As she hurried down the hallway, someone behind her called to her.

"Miss Daaé…please wait!"

Christine halted, stunned at hearing her name pronounced correctly.

"Miss Daaé…please accept my apologies for what happened in there."

Christine glanced up at the man who addressed her. He was dark, around fifty, and he wore an elegant business suit.

"I don´t remember seeing you in the rehearsal room. Were you one of the judges?" Christine asked, confused.

"Sort of," he said, smiling. "Look, I know that you did not get a proper audition, but we´ve heard enough. You only aspired to be part of the chorus?"

Christine nodded, confused.

"We look forward to seeing you here then, bright and early, Monday morning at eight."

"And Ms. Forleo? What about her? And, I´m sorry, but I didn´t catch your name?"

"Oh, excuse me. I´m Nadir Khan, and I can assure you that I outrank Carla Forleo here. She has a very high opinion of herself, I´m afraid," he said. There was sympathy in his eyes.

"I won´t find myself thrown out if I turn up on Monday?" Christine ventured.

"_When _you turn up on Monday, _when _you turn up, dear girl! Let´s not have any talk like that. We´ll be expecting you," he threw back over his shoulder as he started to walk away. One last reassuring smile, and he had turned a corner, leaving Christine alone to contemplate this latest turn of events.

* * *

Christine hurried home without the joy of victory which a successful audition might have afforded her. She had the odd sensation of having been _sneaked in_ to the Modern´s chorus, together with the fear that her future there was shaky at best. Well, she would turn up on Monday morning, if only to spite Carla Forleo.

As she approached the house, she saw Raoul´s Mercedes parked near the corner, and her heart leaped. His visits to his Auntie Val were frequent, and she lived for them.

"How did it go?" asked Gemma just as Christine entered.

"How did what go?" inquired Raoul, looking up from his coffee.

"The audition! Don´t you remember Christine´s audition today?" answered Gemma impatiently.

"Oh…yeah…Hey, Christine! So, how´d it go?" Raoul said absently.

"I´m to report to the Modern Opera on Monday morning. But what´s wrong, Raoul?" Christine asked, watching as he stared into his coffee cup.

"It´s nothing, dear," said Gemma. "He and Linda have just broken up…"

"Nothing! You call that _nothing?_" snapped Raoul. "I even bought her a membership at my gym. Now what am I going to do? Try to figure out what hours she goes there so I can avoid her?"

"As you can see, his heart is completely broken," commented Gemma tartly.

Christine suppressed a smile. Raoul had gone through a succession of girlfriends since her arrival at his great-aunt´s house, all of them blonde – he had a penchant for blondes – but not a single one of these relationships had worked for very long. His failed romances nourished Christine´s hope that someday he would see _her_ as more than a friend.

Even as children, Christine had adored Raoul. He was several years older than she, and he was her hero. Although he had never paid very much attention to her, he did not mind letting her play right field on his baseball team, and he had never permitted any of the neighborhood children to bully her.

The day Christine had met Raoul on the bus, her old adoration of him had reawakened, and she had jumped at the opportunity to take care of his great-aunt. Not only had it meant employment for her, but it also meant that she would see Raoul every now and then. Yet in spite of Christine´s blooming into a beauty over the years, and in spite of her subtle hints and enticements, Raoul never seemed to give her a second glance. _If he could only see me as a woman…_

Raoul cut into Christine´s reverie.

"_You´re _a woman, Christine, sort of….Maybe you could tell me what the deal is with women…I mean, what goes on in their _minds_?"

* * *

Christine went to the Modern Opera on Monday morning with trepidation. Thoughts of Erik DeJongh were inevitable since her run-in with Carla Forleo, and though his nightmare image had faded somewhat in her mind, she still loathed and feared him. She could only hope that he no longer figured in Ms. Forleo´s life.

Christine´s first day at the Modern turned out to be uneventful, however, as did the second, and the third. Rehearsals were on for _La Bohème, _and Christine was to play an anonymous shopkeeper as she sang her part of the chorus. She scarcely saw Carla Forleo, and Ms. Forleo _never _appeared to see her. She began to relax.

Her newfound peace was shattered during her third week with the Modern.

The chorus members were ordered to assemble in the auditorium, and they did so, sitting and murmuring uneasily on both sides of the aisle. The auditorium was dimly lit, for some reason, and as they waited expectantly, a shadow seemed to materialize at the front. A frightened hush fell.

Christine perceived him first, and froze in her seat, grateful that she was sitting at the back. Erik DeJongh´s glowing amber gaze swept the room and settled on her momentarily, then moved to regard the singer closest to him, who squirmed under his icy regard.

_He certainly has a presence, _thought Christine bitterly, and it was true. He seemed to fill the room somehow, and he moved with a grace which belied his height.

"He´s here," Christine heard a frightened voice ahead of her murmur. "He´s never done this personally before!"

_Done what?_

She did not have to wonder much longer. Erik DeJongh had come to winnow out chorus members, and he did so with such a complete lack of sympathy or emotion of any kind that the temperature of the hall seemed to drop. His voice, as beautiful as ever, was like the winter wind.

"Mr. Reynolds – may stay….Miss Kleinfeldt – a reprieve, for now….Mr. Kirkpatrick – you will leave…. As will you, Miss Bolen…."

The people who had been cut were leaving without argument, almost like automatons.

_So this is how a snake hypnotizes its victims, _though Christine. Her initial panic was now a very firm conviction: _He will get rid of me – but I won´t go quietly! Is he really in charge here? Where has he been all this time?_

She started. Erik DeJongh was standing over her now, looking at her with the same hellish eyes she remembered, yet they were somehow different. The ice of only a few seconds ago was gone, and something soft flickered within their fiery depths. She held his gaze defiantly; she had nothing to lose, after all.

He finally spoke.

"Miss Daaé," he said, every vowel of her name pronounced with velvet perfection.

"You will come with me."


	3. Chapter 3

**I´d like to thank all those who have taken the time and trouble to review. You guys keep my boat afloat!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Christine followed Mr. DeJongh as he strode out of the hall, his long figure a sinister beacon. Although there was a panicked roaring in her ears, she could hear the whispers and murmurs of the chorus members who still remained seated.

"…glad I´m not in her shoes…" was one commentary she distinctly heard, along with a nervously jocular "…d´you think they´ll ever find a body?"

_Enough. _She had suffered the consequences of Erik DeJongh´s whims entirely too much already, and she refused to bear the abuse he was likely to heap upon her now. She had already been cut from the chorus. Very well, then; she would collect her purse and jacket and skip Mr. DeJongh´s poisonous insults. She veered away from him, ready to go to the cloakroom.

His reaction was sudden, nearly immediate. Christine was startled by his swift hand clutching her elbow – after all, his back had been turned to her. She looked up.

"This way," indicated Mr. DeJongh with a hint of impatience as he tugged her gently in the proper direction.

"That won´t be necessary, Mr. DeJongh," replied Christine.

He stopped and stared at her – his face had been impassive throughout the browbeating he had given the chorus during the past hour, yet now he registered a hint of surprise. It seemed he was not accustomed to opposition of any kind.

"I beg your pardon?" His voice was steady, polite, but he did not relinquish his hold on her arm. No gloves on his hands today – his long, slender fingers tightened on the flesh just above her elbow. It seemed inappropriate, and oddly intimate. Christine rallied her courage.

"I know I´m being cut from the chorus. Isn´t that enough? I don´t want to hear whatever you have to say to me regarding my lack of talent, or whatever it is that bothers you about me. I´ll go now, and I´ll go quietly, okay?"

She was happy with her minor victory: her voice had remained firm.

The hand on her arm did not move, and he studied her for several long moments. She forced herself to hold his gaze. She was close enough so that she could see light stubble on his chin and exposed cheek, and she could see every strand of his dark hair, though the source of the dim lighting in this hallway was behind him. His eyes continued to astonish her. They did, indeed, seem to glow with an amber light of their own. It was not reflected light.

"Miss Daaé," he said, "You are quite mistaken. I have no intention of ´cutting´ you, as you put it. I cannot begin to understand how you arrived at that impression."

"I thought…." started Christine, then stopped herself. A sudden thought had occurred to her. _He has no memory of me. No memory of what he did to me three years ago._

She cursed herself for her naiveté. She had assumed, in her innocence, that her traumatic first meeting with Mr. DeJongh and his subsequent decision to ruin her life were as memorable for _him _as they were for her. The great harm he had done her, then, had been nothing to him – all in a day´s work, it seemed. Christine felt a type of coldness hardening within her.

Mr. DeJongh propelled her forward. "Come, now," he murmured. She permitted herself to be led down the dimly-lit hallway, her mind working quickly behind her carefully-studied composure. _Revenge, they say, is a plate best served cold. _She would study Mr. DeJongh. _Knowledge is power, after all. _

Christine observed then, detached, as Mr. DeJongh guided her to a plush, comfortable study, large enough for a baby grand, large enough for a music library. She murmured words of wonder at all the appropriate times as he showed her about the room, pointed out souvenirs of interest here and there, _objets d´art_, and other relentlessly tasteful acquisitions. She felt him relax as he guided her; her senses were reptilian and sharp.

She possessed a fine voice, he said. _Thank you._

She deserved much more than a position on the chorus – with his tutelage, she would become so much more. _Really? You could do that for me?_

If she were to come to his study early every morning, before rehearsals, he would, indeed, instruct her. _I´ll be here bright and early, every day, Mr. DeJongh._

There was no need to be so formal – she could call him Erik. _Please call me Christine, then. And thank you for this opportunity. Thank you so very much._

Christine left for the day, frightened by the revolution which had occurred within her own psyche. Revenge? The thought of deliberately harming another person had always been foreign to her character. She actually had always preferred to be the injured party in any conflict, rather than face the torment of being the person who dealt pain to another human being. That way, at least, she could sleep well at night, even if it meant crying herself to sleep. Yet now, something within her had changed.

For the first time in her life, Christine wanted to hurt someone.

* * *

Erik was a difficult man to read. That was one of the first things Christine noticed about him during her surreptitious observations of him. He was proud, regal, and quite impassive. He was impeccable in his dress and manners and the most exacting instructor she had ever known. She did not think much about his mask. A man as involved as Erik was in illicit, if not violent, activities was bound to have been wounded at one time or another. Could someone have thrown acid on that side of his face? Perhaps. She certainly did not care. She wondered more often about his victims. How accurate was Roberto´s information? Had Erik really killed? And if so, how often, and how many?

Yet Erik seemed much too fastidious and intellectual for any type of bloodshed. He loved art, and he composed. He had played one or two of his pieces for her during their more relaxed hours together, and she had been captivated by their beauty.

As engaged as Christine was in watching Erik, she easily noticed that he was watching her, too, openly and unabashedly.

There were other things, too. He would take advantage of any excuse available to touch her. Her posture, for example, was always acceptable when she sang – she was always careful about that. Yet Erik would watch her, circling, until he could stand it no longer.

"Posture!" he would bark, and Christine knew what would come next: the hand correcting her back and the hand near her diaphragm, both quite superfluous and unnecessary. She once nearly arched over backwards to prove, silently, that if she straightened her posture any more she would actually be bending over backwards.

She noticed that when he touched her throat, his hand would actually tremble. She would swallow hard, thinking of how easily his long fingers could strangle the life out of her.

Did he wish to strangle her? No, she decided, he did not. She had caught a familiar, heated look in his eyes during his more unguarded moments. He wanted something completely different.

In spite of the lubricious motives she assumed to be behind Erik´s touches, Christine noted that he took care never to touch her _inappropriately_. He respected her person. The atmosphere, however, was charged, not only by Erik´s tension, but by Christine´s unwilling response. She was angry with herself for considering her teacher attractive – but he _was_, and in a frightening sort of way. She tried her best to repress these feelings, and succeeded, halfway.

Christine was particularly angry with herself one day when Erik, who had guided her towards the piano, refused to relinquish his hold on her wrist. _Who is he to seize me by the wrist, as if I´m his captive? What am I, if I actually LIKE it? _

She wrenched her wrist from his hand in one quick, unexpected motion. Erik stood, silent, his eyes never leaving hers, and he quickly and pointedly grasped her wrist once more, firmly but not painfully. Yet he held her wrist for so long, and his eyes held hers for so long, that his point was clear.

Christine fought tears as she left the Modern that day.

* * *

Among her fellow chorus members, Christine enjoyed a new popularity. They had been surprised to see her back the morning after she had disappeared with Mr. DeJongh, and they respected her for having survived whatever dreadful abuse he might have dealt her. "The Girl Who Lived," they called her in jest, and she smiled politely. She told no one about her lessons with Erik.

Among Christine´s new friends was Meg Giry, to whom she became particularly attached. Meg had been the first person who had really taken the time and trouble to talk with Christine, and she was warm, vivacious and extroverted. Meg kept Christine up-to-date on theatre gossip and gave her information which, indirectly, helped her to understand Erik.

"The Modern Opera´s privately owned, you know – and I mean _totally _in private hands. Mr. DeJongh owns the majority, with a few more investors. And it turns a profit! I don´t think there´s another performing arts complex in the country that can say the same," said Meg, proudly.

Meg always made certain that her mother´s contribution to the Modern´s success was never overlooked, since Mrs. Giry was in charge of the ballet and its dancers, and even choreographed from time to time.

Soon, Meg and Christine started to go out together, to movies and restaurants mostly, and Christine no longer worried about her Disappearing Dates, as she dubbed them.

It was true that the men who had been dating Christine had been disappearing from her life, and were now almost completely gone. It puzzled her that on several occasions the phone would ring about an hour before a date was scheduled to pick her up, and the man would be babbling some nervous excuse and cancelling. She shrugged and took events in stride, though – she did not have a very high opinion of men in general.

"It´s because you´re dating rascals," Auntie Val had declared on one occasion. "_You _need to pick the men you date – don´t you let them pick you! Don´t you know they ask you out on a date only because of your looks?"

It was true. Christine was quiet and reserved, and only the boldest men approached her – and it was always because she was _hot_, and had nothing to do with what kind of a person she was. She very often found herself fending off unwanted advances and taking a taxi home.

But how could she tell Auntie Val that Raoul was the man she really wished to date? She had dropped hints and even suggested movies, but Raoul always rebuffed her with the same good-natured excuses.

When Meg started to visit Christine at her home, Raoul´s visits became more frequent. Christine thought about it bitterly. She had told Meg, and only Meg, how she felt about Raoul, and now it was clear that he was preparing to ask her out. She wondered how her friend would handle the situation. _Meg´s a gorgeous blonde. Just my luck!_

"We´re going to the Modern´s Halloween Ball!" Meg announced one Saturday as soon as she stepped into the house. "So, reserve yourself a costume, Christine! Everyone at the Modern´s required to go. Look, Arnold´s is the best place to rent from, and they have some pretty sexy stuff, too. I might just go as Lady Godiva – they have these flesh-colored bodysuits, you know, and my hair is long enough, but, then, I´d have to look for a horse…"

"I can be a horse!" offered Raoul eagerly.

_You can be a horse´s ass,_ Christine thought to herself irascibly.

Meg was taken by surprise and glanced quickly at Christine before she replied.

"Christine and I were thinking of going together, Raoul…" she began.

"Then why not make it a threesome? We could be the Three Musketeers or something," he persisted.

_Lame, _thought Christine.

"Lame," snapped Meg. "Look, Raoul, if you want to come with us, that´s fine. But let´s not try to coordinate, okay? You pick out the costume you want, and we´ll dress as we want, and we´ll surprise each other, ´kay?"

"Excellent," said Raoul, looking at Meg and nodding.

_Excellent, _thought Christine bleakly.

* * *

The week before Halloween arrived, and Meg bustled into Christine´s bedroom at the appointed hour with the boxes from the costume rental which she had picked up for them.

"Time for the surprise!" she said, her eyes flashing with excitement.

"Let´s see which costume you picked out, Christine!"

"Wanna see yours first," Christine muttered as she tried to untangle a snarl from her hair.

"Okay, but it´s not very original, I´m afraid," she said, and she opened the box. "Et voilà! The Playboy bunny!" she declared.

_Oh, Raoul is just going to love you,_ thought Christine, but she bit her tongue.

Meg was now opening Christine´s box. They both looked at the costume within with puzzled expressions.

"So," Meg said, finally, "Who ordered this for you? The Taliban?"

"I´ll look like a nun!" moaned Christine. "This isn´t the costume I ordered!"

"Well, I´m sorry, but it has your name on it," said Meg.

"This is something Elizabeth Taylor would wear," complained Christine, as she pulled yards of figure-concealing blue chiffon from the box. "I was _supposed _to be a sexy fairy, not a geriatric fairy godmother!"

"Well, there _is _a wand in there," observed Meg.

Christine considered her situation for a moment and marched to her closet.

"I may not have time to exchange the costume, but I have the remedy right here," she said, shuffling through boxes. "This is a costume I wore at a party two years ago, when I was a student. I inherited it from someone who´d gained too much weight to wear it."

Once Christine had dressed, Meg looked at her, somewhat alarmed. She was wearing an extremely scanty black satin dress. Her cleavage was exposed, and a slit exposed her upper thigh. Her figure was on display for all to see, and a black witch´s hat topped her long, loose hair.

_The wicked witch! If Raoul doesn´t notice me in this get-up, he never will!_

Meg and Christine met Raoul, who had dressed as a Musketeer after all, in the foyer. He had rented a limousine, and as he helped Meg into the back of it, Christine felt pangs of disappointment.

_Not one glance in my direction! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Warmest and humblest thanks to those who have so kindly reviewed. I really appreciate your perspectives on this story, since I´m doing this without a Beta (a sacrifice in the interests of speed) and hang my chapters up with no previous feedback, positive or negative. **

**I see that I don´t need to tell anyone, for instance, that it was Erik who made sure that Christine was saddled with that ****unsexy, unrevealing gown. We all know this guy by now, huh? (lol)**

**Anyhow, I´m so grateful for the feedback!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Nadir Khan observed the ballroom below him delightedly from his vantage-point from an upstairs gallery. He was costumed as a turbaned Sikh, which was rather a joke, since he was a Pakistani Muslim, strictly speaking. His education in Britain, however, had left him thoroughly westernized – "contaminated" – and he had turned his back on Pakistan long ago. He was by no means religious. He enjoyed cigarettes and fine brandy, and he adored women.

It was the women on the floor below him which drew his attention now, in fact. The Halloween Ball had become quite a debauched Bacchanalia -- quite a bit of flesh was always on display, and it was now quite a popular social event with the gentlemen. This year would certainly not disappoint, he mused, as he watched several bikini-clad chorus girls who had come chained together slave-style. _Hope they brought the key, _he thought, smiling. Meg Giry made a delightful Bunny – wonderful legs on that girl! However, the woman who was drawing the most attention was wearing an extremely scanty witch costume. Her figure was exquisite and her bearing quite graceful. And that hair! Nadir was thinking of descending the stairs to introduce himself when the girl turned slightly and he recognized her. Christine Daaé. Erik´s Christine. _Damn!_

* * *

Nadir reflected on Erik now as he stared absently at Christine.

How many years had he known Erik? Nearly fifteen now? He remembered the young genius who had so dazzled the court at the gulf principality so many years ago.

Erik had been a young man, but he had already traveled the world by the time Nadir met him. He was a chemist, architect, and musician, a mystic and an illusionist – and an expert in explosives. Prince Khalid had found him quite useful, and his enemies had dwindled in number in a question of weeks.

Erik´s obsession then had been the manipulation of the human mind, via hypnosis and illusion. If a subject proved resistant to these methods alone, he buttressed them with carefully administered pharmaceuticals. Accepting a drink from Erik was risky indeed. He was known to carry sprays and powders on his person as well. When the royal family Erik had so lucratively served began to suspect that he had duped them into paying him so high a salary, they began to plot his murder.

"The man hardly ever sleeps, but sometime he must nod off," commented the Gujarati Muslim who informed Nadir, then a lowly court translator, of the plot. Nadir was set to be assassinated as well. He simply knew too much.

Erik had suspected that such treachery was afoot, and he was prepared. He performed his most spectacular illusion to date: every last person within the Palace was made to believe that it was burning. As the beguiled palace-dwellers struggled to suffocate the imaginary flames, Erik and Nadir made good their escape, unnoticed by anyone.

During the many years and business ventures they had shared since then, Nadir had had ample time with which to observe Erik, but his masked friend remained a cold, impassive puzzle.

Once, a guru had come to visit Erik. He had departed for India once more with great sadness.

"I knew him as a very young man – a boy, really," he had commented to Nadir. "He was sensitive, and he had suffered greatly. You know, his genius is matched only by his capacity for passion, his depth of feeling. I taught him how to detach himself from his feelings for his own good, so that he would not suffer – you understand my reasons, don´t you? But he learned too well! Every strong feeling within him has been repressed, and for far too long!"

"Well," Nadir had replied, "What´s the harm in his losing touch with his feelings if he´s not suffering?"

"Please," the guru had sighed. "Do you think that Nature will tolerate this? He has no feeling for his fellow beings beyond contempt, or so it seems, but there are great passions buried deep inside him which could find explosive release someday, I fear."

Nadir had dismissed these words as the foolish ramblings of a gloomy man.

Then, one day, Christine Daaé had appeared – or, rather, her voice had been heard. Hidden behind the wall at her "audition," Erik had abandoned his habitual ennui and bolted out of his chair when she had begun to sing. As it became apparent that she was leaving, Erik had become visibly agitated.

"You will stop her, Nadir – no, now – immediately! She must … she must sing. Hurry! Now!" he had rasped, shoving his friend indecorously out of the door hidden in the wall. Nadir had had to rush past several astonished judges in order to follow Christine.

After Nadir´s short conversation with Christine, Erik had eagerly questioned him.

"A physical description of her would be useful…?"

Nadir could not resist.

"She´s about fifty, could use a facelift, and dyes her hair a flaming, apocalyptic red, though the roots are grey….about five foot two and two hundred pounds… and then there´s the eczema…"

Erik had many secret passages and hiding-places distributed throughout the Modern, and he and Nadir had observed, hidden, as the chorus members arrived on Monday morning. Curiously, Nadir did not need to point out which one was Christine. Somehow Erik knew.

Nadir had watched as Erik watched Christine, day after day. He ate less than ever and composed during the nights. Nadir noticed his new compositions to be unlike his previous works – these new creations were sweeping, romantic, and sublime in their beauty, and quite unfettered by darker tones.

It was inevitable, then, that Erik would seek closer contact with Christine, and soon he was tutoring her voice on a daily basis. _What next?_, thought Nadir, still contemplating Christine.

"What, then, Nadir? Admiring the view?" came Erik´s jibing voice from beside him.

Erik was resplendent in scarlet velvet, with a death´s-head half-mask covering most of his face; a full-length cloak with satin lining completed this vision of morbid elegance. His eyes burned restlessly from within the shadows of the mask. Too late, Nadir realized that Erik had followed his gaze to the ballroom floor and had traced it to Christine, even as he spoke. There was a terrible silence, then a slow hiss.

"I should eviscerate you!" he spat.

Nadir cringed, but Erik had already gone.

* * *

Christine was having a miserable evening, in spite of her smiles and the high spirits of the people surrounding her. She had suffered through a series of inane conversations with men who seemed more interested in her anatomy than in banter, and she had been thoroughly trodden upon on the dance floor. It was clear that people were becoming drunker by the minute. She could tolerate such situations, generally – her sense of humor usually kept her afloat – but tonight, she was also being treated to the spectacle of Raoul´s persistent attempts to gain Meg´s attention.

There was a sudden ripple of exclamations and excited comments, and Christine searched for the source of the commotion with pessimistic curiosity. What could possibly merit such a fuss? She stared, then, at the velvety, blood-red apparition descending the staircase. Such grace! Such gravity! Unmistakably Erik. She turned away and stared at the colors and people at the opposite end of the ballroom. _If I´m lucky, perhaps he won´t see me here._

The man next to her, the Mad Hatter (surely he had come with an Alice? Where was she?), tried to reclaim Christine´s attention.

"…Let me guess…a dancer! You gotta be a dancer!"

He leaned toward her, smiling optimistically. He had to shout to be heard above the din, and he was flushed and sweating under his costume. Christine was nearly suffocating within the fumes of his cologne.

"You should drink something," Erik´s voice cut in. He planted himself squarely in front of Christine, blocking out the Hatter, and offered her a cup of punch. Christine accepted it gratefully. A vague uneasiness was overtaking her, however. Erik´s mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes seemed to smolder with repressed emotion. When Christine had finished her punch, Erik threw his red velvet cloak over her shoulders; it enveloped her completely and pooled on the floor.

"Oh, no, thank you," Christine said politely, shaking the cloak off of her shoulders to hand back to Erik. "It´s really very warm in here."

"You will cover yourself," hissed Erik, placing the cloak over her shoulders once more.

"I _beg _your pardon?" responded Christine, removing the cloak once more.

"You are immodestly dressed, and you will cover yourself," explained Erik carefully, his voice a low growl. His eyes glowed more brightly, unpleasantly.

Christine backed up several steps to avoid becoming enshrouded in Erik´s cloak once more.

"I…will…not," she enunciated defiantly, and her hands moved to a button on the slit which exposed her thigh. She unbuttoned it, effectively exposing even _more _thigh to public view, straightened, and regarded Erik with her chin held high. Deep inside, she was terrified.

The Mad Hatter, who was still lingering nearby, applauded Christine and hooted his approval. Erik swung around and lifted him up by his lapels.

There was a roar and general commotion, but Christine did not wait to see what might happen. She fled the ballroom as quickly as she could through the press of the crowd, and soon she found herself in a hallway. She blundered blindly through a door to her right: a stairwell. After climbing up two flights, she paused at a landing to catch her breath.

_Darn that Erik! _He had just put the finishing touches on an already-horrible evening. _Another reason to detest him._

Christine leaned with her back against the wall, thinking. Perhaps is she waited until the mayhem died down, then returned to the ball…Her head was swimming, and her senses seemed dulled. What had they put in that punch?

She glanced down the stairwell and froze. A flash of scarlet…Was that a flash of scarlet? She readied herself for flight, but felt somehow too sluggish. Erik seemed to be floating rather than walking up the stairs, and the eyes behind the hideous mask held Christine´s. She remained planted in place, terrified yet unable to move, as a bird freezes before a cobra.

When Erik finally reached Christine, he stood before her a moment; his eyes filled Christine´s consciousness. She felt somehow weak, as though she might faint.

"You dare defy me," Erik finally murmured, but without anger. He seemed to be in the throes of a type of deep fascination, and his hand lingered in the air for an indecisive moment before stroking the side of Christine´s face.

Christine was enthralled._ Yes, thrall is the word – I am a thrall_, she thought dully, _and this is not what I want. _The thrill that shook her body at his touch offended her, the warmth that pooled within her angered her, and when Erik pressed against her – gently, a _sweet, tender, yet insistent_ pressure against the length of her body – Chrisine felt the distant roar of outrage. His eyes never left hers – he was absorbed, every nerve and cell hardened and tensed against her. He caged her with his arms and started to kiss her.

His chin was rough against hers, and his lips on hers were harsh. She could tell that it was unintentional, this harshness, and she knew that his control was slipping. As his tongue invaded her mouth, his body flush against hers, his arms like iron around her, she felt rather than heard the word _surrender. _A thrill of alarm shook her: he was in her mind.

She rallied what resistance she could against this invasion, and issued her _No!, _even as she could feel him exploring within her, even as his arms tightened around her, even as his unrelenting kisses began to deepen even more. _He´ll take me, and there will be nothing left…_

"Christine?"

She fell back to earth, the spell broken. The voice was Raoul´s. At the same second Erik broke away from Christine to face the invading party, he placed his cloak around her shoulders once more. Even in her confused state of mind, Christine could not help thinking of the irony of the gesture – _Raoul´s had all evening to feast his eyes on my nakedness, not that he ever would! _

Raoul continued to climb until he was two steps below their landing.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh…No, not at all," said Christine, trying to keep her voice steady.

The soft, angry hiss from Erik, barely perceptible at first, became a low, feral growl.

"Wow," said Raoul, impressed. "Does he always stay in character like that?"

"I hope not," answered Christine, quickly, and she meant it.

"Oh," said Raoul, eyeing Erik with a touch of caution now. "Look, we´re about to go home – the party´s gone downhill, thanks to Dr. Death here and his amazing ability to break bones. Just when I was making some headway with Meg…"

"´Break bones?´" Christine repeated.

"It was an unfortunate accident. He will recover," said Erik shortly.

_The Mad Hatter. _

"Yeah, well, anyway, it´s time to head off. You coming, Christine?" said Raoul.

"I shall take her home," said Erik.

"Oh," chirped Christine, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice, "Please don´t bother! I´m sure you must be busy, or tired, or both…"

"Nonsense," replied Erik, smiling dangerously. "I am completely at your disposal. Besides, your friend here and Miss Giry might appreciate the time they will spend alone together."

Raoul brightened, but Christine felt as though she had been run through. She looked at him now, fighting tears. Erik observed her closely, then glanced at Raoul, his eyes narrowed and calculating. His hands tightened on Christine´s shoulders.

Raoul continued, as oblivious as ever. "That´s a great idea! I´ll just go tell Meg that you already have a ride, okay, Christine? You two be good!" he said as he started down the stairs.

"See you later," Raoul´s voice floated up the stairwell. Christine stared down after him as Erik pulled her to his side.

_Oh, Raoul! _


	5. Chapter 5

**I thank all those who have so kindly reviewed. You guys rock!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Christine was quietly relieved when Erik did, indeed, take her home.

Their exit through the ballroom seemed like the parting of the Red Sea to her. Erik´s behavior earlier that evening had apparently caused an impression, and revelers made way, glancing at them nervously, as he escorted her towards the front of the Modern, then down to the garage beneath the building.

He guided her to a black BMW and opened the door on the passenger side for her, the eyes behind the mask inscrutable. _So, he won´t take off his mask – not even to drive! _

She watched the lights of the city through the tinted windows of his BMW, silent and pensive. Erik was not inclined toward conversation, but he did not seem tense, either. He appeared lost in thought.

As he pulled up to Auntie Val´s house, Christine realized that she had not needed to give him an address or even directions there. She added this to the long list of alarming realizations she had been working on over time.

After stopping the car, Erik sat unmoving in the driver´s side, and Christine concluded that he did not intend to open the door for her. As she prepared to do it herself, though, Erik´s hand on her arm stopped her.

"You will never – _ever _– dress so immodestly again," he said, his voice like steel. "There will be consequences if you dare to defy me again, in this or any other matter."

Christine sat, stunned and speechless, and barely realized it when he opened her door. _Consequences? Who does he think he is?_

If he noticed that she was fuming, he did nothing to indicate it. He escorted her to the door of her house, his hand firmly on her elbow, until he saw her inside. Auntie Val appeared suddenly in the foyer, a greeting on her lips, and stood frozen in shock, her hand at her throat, as she contemplated Erik in all his grotesque scarlet glory. He acknowledged her with a slight bow – a graceful anachronism – and, taking the cloak Christine had returned to him, he was gone.

* * *

**Frightful Fun at the Modern Opera´s Annual Halloween Ball**

_By Jenna Moore_

_Special to _The Post

_Spirits were certainly lively at this year´s annual Halloween Ball at the Modern Opera and Ballet – and I´m not just talking about ghostly spirits!_

_Mayor __**John Rogers**__ tripped the light fantastic with his wife, __**Lilian**__; both were dazzling as vampires, though Mr. Rogers was heard to say, "I resent these references linking my current status as a vampire to the latest municipal tax plan!" All in good fun, John!_

_Councilman __**George Cole**__ poked fun at his reputation as a lady´s man by turning up as Henry VIII, escorted by all six wives. __**Britney Sellers**__ made a charming Anne Boleyn._

_The crowd was amenable and fun-loving, in spite of an incident involving a Mad Hatter, a red-clad Death, and a broken arm._

"_It was a regrettable accident, really," said Mr__**. Nadir Khan**__, Modern vice-president and spokesman. "These things happen once in a while, when people imbibe and spirits are high. It seems a pair of young men decided to test their strength against each other, and the consequences were painful." _

_Other prominent revelers included…_

…_a__nd so forth. _Nadir put down the newspaper, sighing, and looked at Erik, who was reviewing some documents on his desk. Morning sunlight filtered through a single window but did little to dispel the characteristic gloom of Erik´s study.

"I suppose you´ve seen this morning´s paper, Erik?" he ventured.

"No, I have not," he said curtly, without looking up.

"And I suppose you are not at all curious as to how I managed to calm the waters after your little contretemps with the Hatter?"

"Very well, then. Do tell me! I hang on your every word," Erik sneered, throwing down his pen impatiently.

"He has been given a handsome amount of money and told that we have no idea who Red Death may have been, and that if we ever have any clue to his identity, we´ll do what´s necessary…"

"Invaluable as always, Nadir," said Erik, in milder tones.

"Miss Daaé was lovely last night," added Nadir, testing the waters.

Erik´s pen stopped for a second, then continued.

"I believe I saw you giving her a cool, refreshing drink. Very chivalrous of you, old man."

Stony silence. Erik contemplated his pen, which was now motionless in his tightened grip.

"May I ask whether she is well, Erik?"

The effect was immediate. Erik sprang to his feet with such force that his chair, heavy as it was, tipped over with a crash.

"_What _are you implying? How _dare _you even insinuate that I would ever harm her…!"

Nadir controlled himself and did not cower; Erik was inches from him now, towering over him, his eyes ablaze.

"Calm yourself, calm yourself, old boy. It seems I´ve touched a nerve, but I merely wish to help you, you know. You know I have some experience with the fairer sex," Nadir said in soothing tones.

Erik continued to hover over Nadir, but now uncertainty duelled with anger in his countenance.

"I believe you were upset by the way she was dressed?" Nadir asked softly.

Erik stiffened.

"You were, then. You were upset by the way she was dressed, yet at the same time you _enjoyed _it, didn´t you?"

Erik turned his back on Nadir abruptly, marched to the piano, and, once seated, picked out a few bars of the _March Slav. _

"Would you at least tell me what you placed in her drink? What its effects were?"

The music continued. Nadir lit a cigarette and sat back in the overstuffed chair, watching Erik and enjoying the embellishments he added to the music he was playing. He launched into some Hungarian pieces before adding some Chopin to his selections. Nadir enjoyed the eclectic mixture, and he was nearly nodding off before he heard Erik speak.

"It was quite innocuous. I simply wished to facilitate…I simply wished for her to relax, and to open...to open..." Erik gestured helplessly.

"To open her mind," snapped Nadir. "It´s not for nothing that I´ve known you these many years. And so, what happened?"

"It was difficult…she feels something very negative towards me somehow, for some reason. I might have made progress, but we were _interrupted_," he said, remembering this last part with a growl.

"Ah," said Nadir, crushing out his cigarette. "So, you wished to seduce her mind…"

"Don´t be vile," snapped Erik, "I merely wish to know her, and for her to know me."

"Have you tried _talking _with her? It works for me," said Nadir tartly.

For once, Erik did not rise to the occasion with a retort. He remained silent. He seemed confused, pensive, and lost – and completely vulnerable. Nadir had never seen him this way, and he felt a stab of sympathy for him.

"My friend, let me offer you some advice. You wish to control a young lady – no, don´t deny it! You wish for control over her. Sometimes I believe you spent too much of your youth in the Middle East. Your attitude towards women could stand some improvement, and it´s rather late to work on it now, but I´ll try.

"You must try to _listen _to your young lady, which entails inviting her to _speak_ once in a while. You will become her friend and confidant, and once you have gained a certain amount of mutual trust…"

"I´ve never heard such rubbish in my life!" interrupted Erik. "_I _know what she wants and what she needs, and she knows she may speak with me whenever she wants. I really wonder how all of your ridiculous courtship rituals ever yielded you success?"

Nadir tried to hold his temper in check. "_Your _approach to courtship is the psychological – almost the _physical – _equivalent of bashing the poor girl over the head with a club and dragging her into your cave!"

"Don´t be absurd!" retorted Erik. "I would _never _bash her over the head."

Nadir stared at Erik unblinkingly for a few seconds, then leaned back in his chair. With his right hand, he frantically searched his pocket for another cigarette.

Sensing his victory, Erik returned to the piano and started to play a Brahms sonata.

* * *

By the time Christine went downstairs to start breakfast on that same Sunday morning, she had made a painful decision: she would leave the city.

Flight, she was convinced, was the only way that she could be free of Erik.

She had spent a restless night in half-dreams. Erik´s mask had hung suspended in her consciousness, and she thought about how she had underestimated its scowling message. It warned people off, it hinted of danger within its cool exterior. She had thought that the mask was a shield he used to conceal some vulnerability – how wrong she had been! She had glimpsed the passions the mask concealed, and they terrified her.

She thought of her lessons with Erik now, and of one day in particular. He had directed her to sing a piece by Donizetti, "Giuro d´amore," and she had thought little of it at the time. Erik had surprised her: instead of circling her with his usual icy demeanor, hawk-like, he had remained sitting in an armchair in front of her. She stood, her posture as perfect as ever, and sang to him:

_Eterno Amore e fè,_

_ti giuro umile ai piè,_

_ti giuro eterna fè,_

_presente Iddio, ti giuro amor,_

_ti giuro fè, presente Iddio._

_Viver, morir per te_

_è il solo ben che a me_

_dal ciel desio._

Erik had been very still, listening raptly to her singing, his eyes peaceful. Christine was surprised to see that he nearly looked happy. It was true that her singing had improved remarkably during her time under Erik´s tutelage. She was also very careful about her pronunciation – her Italian was perfect on its surface, and no one would have guessed that her understanding of the language was nil. She ascribed Erik´s rapture to all of this, and thought little of what the words in the song might mean.

Now she wondered.

She could deal with lust; she could even deal with love. She was not certain what passions were raging within Erik, but she had felt the force of their blow, and she knew she could not withstand them.

She considered her own treacherous heart. Her own passion frightened her, and it angered her that her worst enemy was the one exciting such feelings within her. No good could come of her yielding to such a domineering, controlling man, and she refused to risk herself.

She would have to abandon all thoughts of vengeance against Erik, since she was no longer safe with him -- if she had ever been safe with him. The very thought of returning to his study for her morning voice lessons was terrifying now.

She would have to quit the Modern, although she loved to sing, and she adored working on the chorus. She would almost certainly have to leave the city. She had had enough experience with Erik DeJongh to know that he would poison the entire metropolis against her, so no employment would be possible locally. Perhaps she would leave the state.

It would be terribly painful to leave Auntie Val, and then there was Raoul…

"Hey, there, Christine!" Raoul himself appeared in the kitchen then, nearly causing Christine to drop the pancake she had been flipping.

"You nearly scared the living daylights out of me!" said Christine irritably. "It´s good to see you, though. You´ll breakfast with us?"

"Um…yeah. Listen, Christine, I just wanted to make sure you´re all right," said Raoul.

Christine turned to look at him. For the first time in years, it was as if he actually _saw _her. Her heart skipped a beat.

She tried to hide her emotion. "I´m fine, Raoul. Why wouldn´t I be?"

"Well," he said, "I´ve been thinking things over. Last night was kind of weird, wasn´t it? I mean, that guy you were with…?"

"You mean Erik?"

The name seemed to float in the air between them; they looked at each other for a few seconds, both feeling awkward.

"Is that his name? Well, whatever his name is, I´ve been thinking -- he seems kind of violent. He did some major damage to the Hat guy at the party last night, and then I found you holed up in the stairwell with him. It just occurred to me this morning that he might have been pressuring you … well, you know…"

Christine nodded slightly, sighing with relief. She had told no one about Erik, not even Meg, and the prospect of unburdening herself was too comforting to pass up.

"Let me tell you something, Raoul...do you remember those three years ago, when we met on the bus?" Christine started, and the dam finally broke. She began to tell Raoul everything – about how Erik had sabotaged her all that time ago, about her current status as his student, about his peculiar interest in her – everything except her dreams of revenge and her own attraction to Erik. Raoul listened carefully, his eyes never leaving her face.

"I´m going to have to leave the city, Raoul," she concluded. "He frightens me too much! I´m so sorry to have to leave your Auntie Val, though…"

The tears that had been threatening now started to flow, and Christine turned away from Raoul so that he would not see them. She was startled when she felt his arms around her, folding her into a resolute embrace. He reached for one of the kitchen chairs and, sitting down on it, pulled her onto his lap.

"Don´t worry, Christine, don´t worry," he murmured. "You won´t have to leave. We could use someone like you at the firm, you know. It´s only administrative work, I´m afraid, but the pay´s decent, and that creep won´t be able to touch you there. You´ll stay right here where you belong." He rocked her in his arms slightly, and she relished the feel of his simple embrace.

Christine smiled up at Raoul through her tears, unable to express her gratitude. He smiled back and kissed her gently on the forehead.

* * *

Monday morning dawned, and Christine phoned her resignation in to the Modern. A secretary took the message, her voice tinny and impersonal, and Christine felt the sensation of having just cut a line -- but a line leading to what?

As Raoul drove her to her first day of work at his firm, she smiled and bantered with him happily. It had taken a crisis to get him to notice her, but now she basked in the warmth of his attention.

There was only one person who she worried about in the wake of her decision to leave the Modern.

"Where are you?" Meg´s voice hissed across the line when Christine called her in the middle of the morning, at break-time.

"I´m at Raoul´s law firm. He gave me a job here, Meg. I can´t tell you why, but I´ve resigned from the Modern. I´m sorry, okay?"

There was a long silence.

"You´re kidding!"

Another silence.

"You could come back, you know," Meg said. "If you were to come now, you could say you had car trouble or something, and they´d understand…"

"Meg, you´re acting as if I regret this!"

Yet another silence.

"Well, who am I going to talk with now that you´re gone? And why can´t you tell me why you left? Oh, God! You´re not thinking of dating Raoul, are you? He´s a nice guy, but he´s all wrong for you…"

"Meg!" interjected Christine reproachfully.

"Look, can I come by your house later on? So at least we can talk?"

"I hope so! You´re still my best friend, Meg. I´ll see you later, then?"

"Yeah, fine, later…I´ll see you later…ciaou…"

* * *

Christine hurried upstairs to her bedroom at the end of the day and hurriedly dropped her jacket on the bed. Something fluttered to the floor as she did this, and she stooped to pick up a snow-white page of linen stationery. She noticed that something was written on it in a bold, black masculine hand; although it was unsigned, her hands started to tremble.

**You will return.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so grateful for all the lovely reviews! Thank you for letting me know that this story is working, so far. (knocks on wood)**

**I´m afraid I´m visiting a rather long chapter on you this time. I do hope you enjoy it. And Happy Friday!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Christine stared at the note. The air around her seemed to shimmer, and there was a roaring in her ears. She sank onto the bed and stared closely at the stark, black message until its characters may as well have been Chinese. When she was able to breathe steadily again, she approached her bedroom window. The sash was locked, and the dust around it and on the windowsill outside was undisturbed. She looked at the oak tree outside her window with suspicion, but it yielded no clues.

She heard voices downstairs which crescendoed in greeting, then lowered into conversational tones. Meg had arrived and was chatting quietly with Raoul, and as Christine descended the staircase, she could hear the telltale complicit, absorbed tones of an intimate chat. It was not in her nature to eavesdrop, but she did so now unabashedly.

"It´s really fantastic of you to be there like that for her, Raoul. I mean, I had no _idea _she was in this situation. I was thinking she shares everything with me, but she didn´t tell me this stuff," Meg said in melancholy tones.

"Yeah, well, I guess she didn´t want to get you involved. After all, this Erik guy seems to run the Modern, doesn´t he? And it took me a while to put two and two together. I mean, Erik _DeJongh?_ This is a guy you don´t want to cross. He pulls a lot of strings in this city, and I hear he´s ruined more than one career…"

"But why did he blacklist Christine, Raoul? She was just a waitress. It doesn´t make sense!"

"Well, maybe _you _can tell _me _why, Meg. Don´t you know something about this guy? Isn´t your mom in a pretty high-status position at the Modern?"

There was a pause.

"I could say that my mom _knows _him, I guess," said Meg, slowly, "but she never tells me anything. You don´t know my mom…"

Christine stood outside the doorway, trying to organize the tumult of her thoughts. She had confided her story to Raoul with the expectation that he would tell no one else of her predicament. However, barely one day had passed, and now Meg certainly knew. She could only wonder who else he might have told.

She cursed her own naiveté. She had felt so sheltered by Raoul, so warmed by his recent attention to her plight, that she had assumed that she enjoyed his _undivided _attention. It had not occurred to her that he still felt attracted to Meg, and she now suspected that he was using his new status as Rescuer-of-Christine to impress her friend.

_Where do I fit in?_ It was true that Raoul finally _saw_ her now, but perhaps he only saw her as his little sister, or as some random damsel in distress. Why had he lingered here after driving her home? Was it to visit his Auntie Val, or had he hoped to see Meg?

_Enough of this. _Christine entered the living room decisively, smiling, and greeted Meg with all the warmth she could muster. Meg´s response was a spirited near-reprimand.

"Now, Christine, we have to talk. You´ve been holding out on me! What´s this about you and _Erik DeJongh_? Oh, my God! Oh, we have _so _got to talk," and, taking her by the arm, she escorted her out toward the door. Raoul started to follow them, but Meg stopped him.

"Not you, Raoul – this is ´ladies only.´ Tell your Auntie Val I´m taking Christine out to dinner tonight….oh, and tell her ´hi´ for me…"

Meg marched Christine decisively out the door while Raoul, disappointed, watched them leave.

* * *

Meg and Christine chose a quiet booth at the neighborhood pizzeria, and Meg initiated their conversation.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well," Christine started, "Raoul obviously informed you of everything. I´m sorry I never told you about Erik, but I just didn´t want to involve you. You know how things are at the Modern better than anyone! Anyway, I´m sorry. Anything more you want to know? I´ll tell you right now."

"Right," Meg replied. "I want to hear _your _version of what happened with Mr. DeJongh, starting with the second you met him. It must have been horrible! Did he really call you an insect?"

Christine managed a laugh and nodded; then, she told Meg everything.

* * *

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, much to Christine´s relief. She gradually became accustomed to her new routine and duties at the law firm, and by Friday, she had relaxed considerably.

Close proximity to Raoul provided her an opportunity to learn more about him, and not all the information on him was flattering. She kept an ear out for workplace gossip, and she soon learned that Raoul was well liked, but that he was considered a _player_. He was also considered a competent enough lawyer, but he never would have been permitted to join the firm if not for his name and connections. In fact, every positive thing that she heard regarding Raoul came followed by a "but."

She enjoyed the time she spent with Raoul, but his conversations seemed to revolve almost exclusively around himself – his likes, his dislikes, his accomplishments, etc. He did find time to ask her one or two things about Meg. Christine was patient with Raoul and conversed with him politely, but she noticed a gradual shift within herself: Raoul´s lack of interest in her was less painful, and her desire to develop a romantic relationship with him lessened with every day.

More confusing to Christine was the aching, empty feeling that nagged at her now. She knew that she missed the Modern and rehearsals with the chorus there. She admitted, grudgingly, that she missed her morning music lessons with Erik. She would never admit to missing Erik himself, though – not even to herself. That would represent a defeat of the worst kind.

Christine was well-practiced at putting aside her sorrows and getting on with her life – the aftermath of her father´s death had taught her that. She tucked away her empty feelings into the most remote corner of her heart, then, and soldiered on.

Meg continued to drop by every day, and she kept Christine abreast of all the gossip and goings-on at the Modern. It had been a bad week, it seemed – the directors were all out of sorts and angry, and rehearsals had gone badly. The prevailing bad humor seemed to emanate from the top, Meg said, and although she did not mention his name, Christine knew that she was referring to Erik.

* * *

"Erik, things cannot continue this way," Nadir said as he delivered yet another angry response to yet another one of Erik´s cutting communiqués.

Erik did not even bother to look up at his friend, but continued to scribble furiously, this time on staff paper. Before that, he had been writing endless letters, which he had subsequently burned. Nadir had barely glimpsed them, but he had seen passages which caused him to blush. He did not need to ask for whom the letters were intended.

Nadir glanced at the decanter: nearly empty now.

"Erik, you need rest," Nadir said, his tones soft and soothing. "You can´t possibly get anything done correctly after having drunk an entire fifth in the past hour. Tomorrow…"

"…and tomorrow, and tomorrow," cut in Erik icily. "Get out, Nadir. I am the phoenix, creating now out of the ashes of my own destruction. I wish not to be disturbed."

There was a knock at the door, and Nadir opened it to usher in the Modern´s ballet mistress, Madame Giry. She approached Erik fearlessly. She herself was the soul of austerity, a study in black and gray, her salt-and-pepper hair pinned into a severe bun. She rarely permitted herself the luxury of smiling. Her face now was inscrutable, yet she exuded a certain nervousness. At any rate, she succeeded where Nadir had failed: Erik looked up at her.

"I have information from Meg. It pertains to something that happened to Christine about three years ago," she started.

Erik sat silently, listening.

* * *

There was a loud crash, and some members of the chorus, several stagehands and a director froze and stared down the hallway. Something inky-dark appeared, rolling and billowing in their direction.

"What the _hell _is that?"

"It´s smoke…what happened to the alarms?"

"Get out, get out….we need to get people out! Shit! Call the fire department!"

There were more shouts and confusion, and within minutes, a haphazard evacuation had taken place.

Carlotta Forleo was the last to hear the ruckus. Awakening from her catnap with a jolt, she pulled open her dressing-room door and was confronted by smoke and flames….flames? Her vision seemed to clear, and she saw now that the flames were, in fact, Erik DeJongh´s eyes. His dark figure emerged clearly as the smoke suddenly dispersed.

"Miss Forleo," he hissed. "Forgive my smoking, but I wish for a word with you in absolute privacy." His voice was icy steel.

Under ordinary circumstances, Carlotta would have welcomed a private meeting with Erik with alacrity. Now, though, it was clear there was something very wrong…

"Three years ago, after I did you the favor of dealing with the _famiglia _which you had so offended, I met with you, as you wished, at an Italian restaurant sadly notorious for its singing waiters…"

Carlotta blanched and began to tremble. She knew where this conversation was going. She had feared this moment since Christine had been taken under Erik´s wing. She started her defense.

"How was I to know you _liked _the little brat? You even called her…"

"FORGET what I called her!" roared Erik. "You meretricious sow! How could you have had her, or _anyone, _blacklisted in _my _name? How could you ever have _dared?" _

Carlotta felt pressure on her throat. She began to panic. Erik´s hands had not moved; indeed, his arms were folded in front of him.

"I was only defending myself! If you had heard her sing…"

"…I´d have loved her voice. Her career would have eclipsed yours, sooner or later. Yes, it´s true. In the end, you only put off the inevitable, you know. Her career _will _eclipse yours, for the Fates saw fit to deliver Christine to me in spite of your sabotage. Now, there is a price to pay for what you have done…"

The pressure on Carlotta´s throat increased, then released.

"I´ll do anything to make up for it. Anything!" she whimpered. "Please…"

* * *

Outside, the fire department had arrived, and the firefighters were scratching their heads.

"No sign of fire, smoke, smoke damage, heat….no problems with the wiring, not even a flipped circuit breaker…" reported a lieutenant. The crew turned to face the group of artists and stagehands assembled on the sidewalk.

"Is this some kind of a joke or publicity stunt?" snarled the crew leader.

"Look up there! On that ledge!" yelled one of the chorus members at the edge of the group. His voice training was paying off well. Even the firefighters farthest away from him and upwind could hear him, and everyone turned to look at the Modern building.

Carlotta Forleo was on a third-story ledge, her face white, her hair whipping about in the wind. It did not seem as though she wanted to jump, but, nonetheless, she was on the ledge, looking at the ground below and trembling.

"These people are nuts," muttered one of the firefighters, sighing, as they prepared to deal with the potential suicide.

* * *

Christine and Auntie Val watched, aghast, as images of Carlotta Forleo´s rescue flashed across the television screen during the ten o´clock news. The account of her near-suicide came with an odd addendum – something about an unconfirmed fire at the Modern Opera and Ballet. The camera panned to a group of artists gathered on the sidewalk, many of whom Christine knew.

The doorbell rang, and Gemma and Christine looked at each other. It was certainly late for visitors, which made some sort of emergency seem likely. Christine went to the front door, and, looking through the peephole, opened it with caution. She left the chain latched.

The man on the porch simply pushed a letter towards her, which she accepted.

"I´ll be waiting over there, by the car," he said.

As he turned away, Christine looked towards the street, where a limousine was sitting, its engine idling. She opened the letter and read it quickly.

**Miss Forleo**** has been granted a reprieve, at present.**

**You doubtless know of her unsuccessful suicide attempt this afternoon. She is a creature who is nothing if not persistent. Her attempts at self-immolation will continue and increase in frequency until she finally succeeds, and her sins will have been expiated. **

**Her sins against us have been great indeed.**

**Perhaps you wish for a different ending. Perhaps tragedy is not to your taste.**

**I offer you an opportunity to change the ending of this wretched parable. **

**Should you come to the Modern and meet me now, I promise that Miss Forleo will once again find reason to live. She will likely live as miserably as she ever has, but her heart will continue to pump, which is sign enough of life for these modern times. **

**I provide you with a means of transportation. The choice is yours.**

**E.**

"Christine?" Auntie Val´s voice floated towards her from the living-room. "What´s going on?"

"I´m to meet Erik, or the mezzo gets it," Christine muttered, still in the foyer.

"I can´t hear you," complained Auntie Val.

Christine inhaled sharply and entered the living-room.

"I have to go out now, Auntie Val, I´ve got a friend who´s in trouble. I have to go right away," she said, putting her coat on and retrieving her purse.

She ignored Auntie Val´s worried look and headed out the door. The limousine gleamed darkly in the lamplight. _It looks like a hearse, _Christine thought sullenly as the driver helped her in.

* * *

There was light and activity at the Modern. The stragglers from the audience which had seen that evening´s performance of _The Firebird _were still milling about and chatting. As she moved through the darkened hallways, Christine imagined Meg in the dressing room, removing her makeup and chatting with the other dancers. She imagined them trading jokes and gossip. _I was so afraid to sleep, because I thought there were monsters under my bed – so I go to see a psychologist, and he doesn´t help a bit. Then I go to a bartender, and he gives me the perfect solution – I cut the legs off my bed! _

_I definitely have monster issues, _Christine thought. _If only the solution were so simple!_

She was in front of Erik´s door now. She stared for a moment at its dark oak surface, and she jumped when it opened. Carlotta emerged and stopped to stare at her a minute, her eyes slightly wild.

"Hi," ventured Christine uncertainly, and Carlotta bolted, running past her down the hallway. _Towards freedom. _

When she dared to look towards the doorway again, Erik was standing there. His appearance surprised her. He was in shirtsleeves, and there were inkstains on his cuffs. The exposed side of his face was unshaven, and it seemed somehow more gaunt, if possible. His eyes burned with naked emotion for a second before he regained some dominion of himself, and Christine drew back involuntarily.

Christine´s small motion seemed to spur Erik to action. He grasped her wrist, then, and pulled her indecorously into the foyer, then into his study. She could hear the sound of locks clicking shut, and she started to hyperventilate. _Carlotta, at least, seems safe. Now, what about me?_

"Forgive me," he said quickly, his voice low, "I forget my manners."

He pulled her coat off of her in a way that suggested the undressing of her more than chivalry, and he stared at her as he held her coat. She blushed. It was true that her blouse was somewhat low-cut, but it was decent, as was her skirt. Why did he have that look in his eyes? She thought she had smelled whiskey on his breath for a moment there…

"You´ve blackmailed me into coming here," Christine said in a steady voice, finally finding her courage.

"No. You made a choice. I made it perfectly clear in my note," he said in a voice so matter-of-fact that Christine felt her courage fail her once more. She refused to give ground, though.

"Blackmail _consists_ of a choice, and you´ve blackmailed me," she insisted, calling up every ounce of resentment she felt against Erik.

He closed the space between them suddenly and completely, pushing her against one of the many immense bookshelves which lined the walls. He raked his hands into her hair, his long fingers luxuriating in its waves, until he held her prisoner, one hand splayed on each side of her head. She was forced to look up and into his eyes, her body flush against his.

"I know why you refuse to yield to me, you know. I know the entire story now. You resent me, Christine, for reasons that are false. I could tell you the truth. I could tell you that it was Carlotta, not I, who committed that unpardonable wrong against you three years ago…"

"You didn´t even remember me," snapped Christine, her anger rising. Erik´s pressure against her lessened slightly.

"I _did _remember you, my love. I simply did not associate the child you were then with the woman before me now," he replied, and his eyes glowed with a feeling that Christine could identify as lust all too easily.

She began to struggle, and Erik renewed his grip on her head, making certain her eyes met his. His body pressed into hers crushingly, and she knew his desire.

"I could make you forget everything, you know," he whispered, as though his words were designed to seduce her. The whiskey on his breath wafted over her now.

"I could leave your mind a complete blank. That particular September could cease to exist for you forever, and we could start all over again, you and I…"

"No!" shrieked Christine, truly frightened now. The tears started to flow, and she noted with surprise that he, too, was crying now.

Erik nuzzled her neck, sending shivers to her core, and she could feel the warmth and wetness of his tears along with the insistent need of his lips; his whiskers burned her. She could feel herself melting, even as her mind resisted. _No!_

A bell rang, shattering the moment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Many thanks to those who have reviewed. You really make my day! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Erik stiffened at the shrill sound of the bell, but he did not immediately separate from Christine. He remained still for a second, listening, until the metallic sound of locks unlatching became apparent. There was a thump as someone tried the door to the study, then a slow series of clicks.

Erik flung himself away from Christine, snarling a curse, and hurtled towards the door just as Nadir succeeded in opening it.

Erik slammed Nadir, who protested feebly, against the wall. Nadir´s discomfort was short-lived, though. His attacker was obliged to drop him and lunge after Christine, who had seized the opportunity to slip past both of them and run out the door.

"Where do you think _you´re _going?" Erik hissed, as he pulled her towards him. The pivotal force slammed her against him, and he held her tightly, her back to his chest.

There was a silence. Nadir, who had had the breath knocked out of him, was recovering as quickly as his smoker´s lungs would permit. Christine was weeping silently, waiting, frightened by what might come next. Erik faced Nadir now.

"Why the _hell_ are you here? Does my privacy mean nothing to you? Oh, you will regret this, you will regret this during the short amount of time you have left! Strangulation is too clean for you, Nadir, much too clean! Some people think that drawing and quartering is a lost art, but they do not know _me_!" Erik´s voice, which had started at a hiss, now rose to a roar.

Christine heaved a silent sob, trembling, and Erik´s grip on her seemed to loosen.

Nadir found his voice. "I suppose Christine is your guest this evening. Do you think it polite to frighten her so? Do you think it polite to receive a young lady in the state you´re in? Or do you care for her good opinion? Why, she very nearly left without so much as a goodbye. Perhaps you have some idea why. Here, have a look at yourself," he said, proffering a mirror from Christine´s makeup kit and stepping forward. It seemed he knew his way around a lady´s purse.

Erik could not avoid glancing at the reflection of himself. He stiffened as if slapped and gently released Christine, but he stroked her hair with his hand, refusing to relinquish contact completely.

"Forgive me," he said, his voice a near-whisper.

Surprised by his sudden humility, Christine turned to face him. His face was a portrait of shame and regret, and she could only nod slightly, exhausted in mind and body.

"I shall take Christine home," said Nadir gently; however, Erik snapped at him, his eyes alive with suspicion.

"No!" he rasped, but seeing Christine jump at his sudden change in demeanor, he softened his tone.

"I will call the limousine," he said, "and you may go home now, but you will return to me tomorrow morning in the same limousine. You are to be driven back and forth to rehearsals from now on…"

"Just a minute," interrupted Christine, her spirit reviving. "I don´t work here any more! I have another job now, too, and they´re certainly expecting me on Monday. I quit, remember, and I meant it! I´m not coming back!"

Christine could hear Nadir stifle a gasp, but Erik merely looked at her, his eyes smoldering, his hands clasping and unclasping. It suddenly occurred to her that he was controlling himself. There was a moment of terrible tension before Erik finally spoke.

"You shall continue here. Do you think that I had nothing in mind but my own pleasure during these last few months I´ve listened to your voice and transformed it? Do you really have no idea? Let me tell you exactly what awaits you, Christine: You are to replace Miss Forleo as Mimi in the upcoming production of _La bohème._"

"You _have_ been drinking!" spat Christine in disbelief, "and I´m going home."

"Sweet dreams, then," said Erik, "and I will see you in the morning."

"…_not!_" retorted Christine impatiently, edging towards the door. Nadir hurriedly handed her her mirror, and she entered the foyer, picking up her purse and coat.

"Miss Forleo´s continued good health remains in your very generous hands," Erik said, his voice quiet but steely.

"Wait a minute," said Christine, entering the study once more. "You said in your note that you´d let Carla be if I came to you tonight. Well, I´ve done my part, so you´re supposed to let her alone now!"

"You misinterpret me, my love. I specifically stated that her heart will continue to beat. That much is true. I shall leave that organ alone, as I have no interest at all in _her_ heart…"

"Miss Daaé," interrupted Nadir quickly, "please consider the merits of doing as Erik wishes, at least for now!"

"´at least for now´?" Erik snarled, turning to face Nadir.

"Oh, my Lord!" exclaimed Christine, tiredly. "All right! I´ll be here in the morning, but I want a promise from you."

Erik simply waited.

"I don´t want you to touch me – not at all, for any reason, do you hear me? I don´t know what you take me for, but I´m not one of those…"

"You are mine," Erik said firmly. "Why shouldn´t I touch you?"

Christine exploded.

"I´m not _yours_! Whatever gave you the idea that I´m _yours? _Look, I´ll let you in on my personal perspective on things. Several years ago, you ruined my life. It wasn´t very much to begin with, but it was what I had. Yes! I know! You say Carla did it, but it makes no difference to me – you let it happen. I was just an insect to _you_ after all, right? Well, now some years have passed, and now I´m an attractive piece of ass, aren´t I? So, now you´re blackmailing me into coming here so you can get your hands all over me, and guess what? I don´t like it! Did you think I was like Carla, or whatever other women you´ve been with? I don´t want to jump in the sack with you, and I´d be more than happy never to see you again!"

All was silent. Nadir looked stunned and slightly frightened, but Erik appeared calm. He gazed at Christine, his face inscrutable.

"You shall come to me tomorrow," he said, simply and firmly.

Christine stared in disbelief, then turned on her heel and left.

* * *

Meg was waiting in the shadows of the lonely corridor outside Erik´s sanctuary, and Christine very nearly sailed past without seeing her.

"Christine! Christine…are you okay?"

Christine glanced at Meg, who fell into step with her, but said nothing.

"Okay, look, I´m sorry, Christine. I know my mother told Erik…"

Christine snorted.

"Yeah, thanks, Meg – now I know, too! And I´m definitely not telling you what just happened in there…"

"Look, I said I´m sorry, and I am. We saw you coming into the building tonight, and we were scared, so we told Mr. Khan to check on you. Where is he, anyway?" asked Meg.

"Still in the lion´s den. I owe him, big-time. He arrived just in time."

"Just in time for what?" asked Meg ingenuously, and Christine looked at her sharply.

Meg exhaled.

"Christine," she said, "I know I haven´t been discreet, but first of all, Mr. DeJongh would still have recovered you, information or no information. So, now he knows what happened. He would have found out sooner or later!"

"But _I_ wanted to be the one who told him, and _I_ wanted to be the one to choose the right moment!" countered Christine.

"And, secondly, I did get some information from my mom on what really happened that night – and I can tell you that Erik didn´t blacklist you – it was Carla!" continued Meg.

"I´ve been updated on that," responded Christine. "Anything else?"

"Just that the impression that Carla wanted to give everyone wasn´t true. She made people believe that she and Mr. DeJongh were lovers, and that she had lots of influence. He put a stop to that later, but that was after the problem she caused you.

"He only tolerated her because she´s a great artist, you know, in spite of her terrible personality. But she´s always wanted more from him. Around the time you met them, Carla had slept with a local Mafioso, mostly to get Mr. DeJongh´s attention. It didn´t work, but the Mafioso´s wife was furious and took out a contract on her. Seems she had her own connections. So, Carla went running to Erik DeJongh -- ´Save me, save me, or your next production will be sopranoless!´" – here, Meg´s voice went into a shrill, mocking soprano, then she lowered her voice – "And nobody knows how he did it, but Mr. DeJongh fixed things with all the Mafiosi, and they never dared to even look at Carla again!"

Christine had stopped as she listened, absorbed.

"Well, I don´t get it," she said, slowly. "Why would Carla bother with a nobody like me with all that was going on in her life?"

"Don´t you get it? She didn´t want Erik DeJongh to hear you sing. She´s no fool – she knows a good voice when she hears it, and she knew yours could be better than hers. She was _jealous_, Christine! And I´d be careful with her if I were you, ´cause I think she still has a thing for Mr. DeJongh."

"What a hornet´s nest!" murmured Christine tiredly.

"I´d say you´re the queen bee," said Meg, her cheerfulness contrasting sharply with Christine´s dark mood.

"I´m going to have to quit my job at the law firm, you know," she commented.

"Well, that was definitely small potatoes! Just tell Raoul that things between you and Mr. DeJongh have cleared up!"

"They _haven´t,_ Meg! Did I come out of his study with a smile on my face? I am _not happy!"_

"Look, Christine, I don´t mean to pressure you, but I guess I will. There are hundreds of people working for the Modern, and their jobs depend on the happiness and goodwill of one Mr. Erik DeJongh. You have no idea the kind of week we´ve had without you around to keep him happy. And in case you haven´t noticed it, you´ve got it made! If you just learn how to handle the man…"

"He just wants to get in my pants. Thanks a lot, Meg! Are you my friend, or not?"

"Of course I am! And I´m trying to help keep you level. Didn´t you tell me your father wanted this for you? That he wanted you to use that lovely voice of yours to its maximum potential?"

Christine was silent. This time, Meg had hit her mark.

They parted, and Christine spent the trip home deep in thought.

* * *

Nadir watched from a nearby armchair as Erik sat at his desk, contemplating the wall.

"It´s nearly one o´clock," Nadir observed. "Perhaps you could do with some rest."

Erik ignored this, and opened a top drawer. Withdrawing and opening a jewelry-box, he stared at the contents. Nadir strained to see: two simple, gold wedding bands – a man´s and a woman´s.

"So," said Nadir quietly, "The young lady is mistaken if she thinks …"

"She has no idea what my intentions are," said Erik, with a bitter smile.

"Where´s the engagement ring?" inquired Nadir.

"No engagement will be necessary," said Erik with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Nadir sighed.

"Erik, I believe that you are taking things rather fast. You´ve frightened the girl! I know that dashing off and marrying her will certainly dispel her baser suspicions, but in case you haven´t noticed, she seems in no mood to discuss which tea towels to buy with you!"

"She will change her mind," answered Erik, still contemplating the rings.

"And you, Erik? Have you really considered what marriage means? Perhaps the prospect of having a wife seems attractive to you, but have you considered the very real threat of fatherhood which usually accompanies that?"

Erik´s response was a slight smile. Nadir was stunned; he had expected anger, or at the very least, derision.

"So," he said slowly, "you have thought this over thoroughly. But there is the young lady to consider. Given her current state of mind, I think you should take things at a leisurely pace – she should get to know you. A courtship taken at a slow pace should calm her doubts, and…"

"I will employ other methods to calm her doubts. I don´t care to wait!" snarled Erik.

"Well, I can certainly see that. You were about to give her a nice, generous sample of the wedding night when I arrived this evening, and she was not at all pleased!"

"The sooner she accepts _me_, the sooner she will accept my protection and everything else I plan to offer her. Had it not been for Carla´s interference in what clearly was destined to be, Christine and I would have married years ago. I have never killed a woman, Nadir, but I have never, _ever, _felt such temptation to do so!"

"You can consider yourself well avenged," said Nadir quickly. "The torture which you will inflict on Carla as she watches Christine take on her role should be exquisite!"

Erik nodded absently.

"Erik, please consider the merits of a courtship or engagement. Christine has a mind of her own, you know…"

"You needn´t tell me _that!" _Erik snapped.

"…then you´ll consider what she wants and needs. You need to be gentle with her, to spend time with her, and I don´t mean the time you spend teaching her. As a suitor, you would take on an entirely different role. I don´t understand this impatience of yours, Erik, this terrible need of yours to rush things!" Nadir sighed.

Erik hesitated.

"The field is not entirely clear," he said softly.

"Another man?" ventured Nadir.

"Possibly, though I would hardly call him a man. At any rate, I need to direct Christine´s attention away from him…"

"…and towards yourself. It´s easily done, old man! Believe me, a few intimate dinners, a few poems, maybe movies or a play…"

"_Movies or a play? _Is that the type of torture you suggest?" sneered Erik.

"Indeed. Erik, you need to do _something_ in a conventional way!"

"Very well, Nadir, very well. Perhaps an engagement would be an option, though I don´t wish for it to be a long one…"

Nadir breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Progress at last!

* * *

Sunday morning dawned, and Christine awakened with a rare feeling of well-being, even of happiness.

She thought of her hours yesterday morning with Erik. He had respected her wishes and not touched her once, not even to correct her posture. The lesson had been difficult – he was, indeed, preparing her for the role of Mimi. However, Erik had served tea afterward, and they had conversed.

Had they ever really had a conversation before that? No, not really. Erik had always either issued orders or asked her questions, and he had always been watchful and observant, but he had never shown signs of wishing for conversation.

Christine had been amazed at how easily she had chatted with Erik, and how he had managed to select topics of mutual interest. He was an accomplished conversationalist – really a lost art, she thought. She was amazed that, after the events of the night before, they had both been able to relax together. _Father loved a good conversation -- he would have liked Erik, _she thought, then stopped, horrified.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and reluctantly left her bed, knowing that she would run late for church if she lingered. She had become a member of the choir at St. David´s Church earlier that week – she had thought that the church choir would represent her only chance left to sing. How things had changed in barely a day!

Just as she was about to slip into the shower, the phone rang. Christine picked it up, surprised to hear Raoul´s voice. After an awkward greeting, he addressed the purpose of his call with frankness.

"You could have told me, Christine," he said.

"Told you _what?"_

"That you changed your mind completely about Erik DeJongh."

Christine was silent. Had Meg called him and told him that she would be returning to the Modern? Did he know she would be Mimi?

"I couldn´t believe that you would not tell me about your engagement, though. I can´t _believe _this! I´m looking at the paper this morning, and I´m flipping the pages, and there your name is, and I thought at least you´d have said something. Am I your friend or not?"

"Raoul….um, could I call you back, huh? Thanks!" said Christine quickly, and simply hung up on him.

She ran downstairs and flipped frantically through the morning paper, her heart beating wildly. The room started to spin as she saw, within the pages of the _Society_ section,

**DeJongh – Daaé**

Mr. Erik DeJongh announced his engagement to Miss Christine Daaé on Saturday, November 4. Mr. DeJongh is a distinguished member of the city´s business and arts circles, and is particularly well known for his role as the sustaining force behind the Modern Opera and Ballet. His fiancée, Miss Daaé, graduated with honors from…

Christine dropped the paper before she could read more. The room continued to spin, and she sat down, unable to support herself on her weakened knees. Her mind could only articulate one thought: _Erik!_


	8. Chapter 8

**A huge hug and my deepest gratitude to all who have taken the time and trouble to review! I really appreciate it.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Christine discovered exactly how many people were fond of reading the "Engagements" section of the newspaper once she had entered St. David´s. As she was putting on her choir robe, she was enveloped by a group of gossipy well-wishers, most of whom she barely knew.

"Our little girl is getting married!" exclaimed one kindly, rather maternal woman.

"Well…" started Christine.

"I can imagine what a wedding it will be! Oh, your father would have been so happy!"

Christine felt a pang, and was silent.

"And to Erik DeJongh, of all people! How on earth did you manage to land the most eligible bachelor in the entire state? It must have been hard work!" added another woman.

"Well," said Christine, "I can´t say it was exactly difficult, but I really must tell you…"

"We can´t wait to see it – you haven´t mentioned an exact date, though, have you?"

"No, but…"

"Your Aunt Valerius is just as tight-lipped as they come. I saw her just the other day, and she didn´t tell me a thing! I´m going to give her a good talking-to!" declared yet another, older woman.

_Oh, dear. Auntie Val!_

Raoul´s aunt was blissfully ignorant of all that had happened thus far, and Christine wished for things to remain that way.

* * *

Ensconced with the rest of the choir just beyond the rood screen, Christine glanced out at the congregation during the sermon. She was surprised to see Raoul, dressed in his Sunday best. Since when had _he_ become a churchgoer? Only weeks ago, she would have been thrilled to see him, but now she felt only a strange mixture of irritation and panic.

As she had expected, Raoul was waiting for her as she exited the church door.

"Christine, why did you hang up on me this morning? What´s going on?"

"It´s all a farce, Raoul. I´m not engaged. This is Erik´s idea of a joke," replied Christine.

"Oh," said Raoul, furrowing his brow. "He has a really weird sense of humor, then. But, what´s going on? Have you been seeing him? I mean, I´ve been talking to you all week, but you didn´t…"

"I´ve seen him," interrupted Christine. "I didn´t want to, but I had to see him. I really shouldn´t be telling you about this, though. Look, Raoul, I´m really sorry that I ever got you involved in my stupid problems. I´m so grateful for all you´ve done for me – really, I am, but I´m going to have to quit my job at your firm. I´m really sorry about all of this."

"But, why?" asked Raoul, incredulously. "Why do you have to leave? Is DeJongh pressuring you in some way? He is, isn´t he?"

Christine weighed her options quickly, and decided not to tell Raoul about Carla´s crisis or anything about Erik.

"I´m to replace Carla Forleo in the role of Mimi," Christine finally said.

Raoul looked at her blankly.

"You know, Mimi – in _La bohème_?"

Raoul continued to stare. He reminded Christine, fleetingly, of a cow.

"It´s an opera," she clarified.

"Oh," said Raoul. "But is the role that important?"

"Hey, Christine!" a familiar voice called, and Christine turned to see Meg approaching.

"I knew I´d find you here," said Meg, cheerfully, hugging Christine. "I can´t believe this! You´re an engaged person now! Congratulations!"

Christine returned the hug rather woodenly.

"Thank you, but I´m _not_ engaged!" she said with some coldness.

"But of course you are," said Meg matter-of-factly. "It´s in the newspaper!"

"I am _not _engaged!" repeated Christine so loudly that a group of passersby stared openly.

"It´s just a joke," supplied Raoul, and Meg began to giggle.

"A joke? You´re kidding! Well, it´s _too_ funny!" she said.

"It´s _not_ funny!" snapped both Raoul and Christine simultaneously.

There was an awkward silence during which Meg and Raoul stared at each other with some hostility, and Christine stared at the ground.

"Look," said Meg, finally, "I´m about to go shopping with my mom. Why don´t you join us, Christine? We could talk…you know?"

"She´s coming to a movie and lunch with me!" said Raoul, and both women looked at him in frank surprise.

Before she could react, Raoul was steering Christine toward his car, his hand at her elbow.

"Well…see you later then, Christine," said Meg, somewhat weakly, and Christine could tell that something was worrying her.

She offered Meg a smile and a wave as they pulled away from the curb. Inside, she felt cold.

* * *

_Isn´t this what I dreamed of for so very long? A date with Raoul?_

Christine could not dispel her discomfort, however. Raoul bought the tickets, his arm around her waist, but instead of the nirvana she had dreamed of, his touch only inspired tension.

As they sat through the movie, Christine became resentfully aware of the fact that it was a blood-and-guts war saga, and that Raoul had picked it without asking her opinion. She knew that they were both overdressed for the cinema, and she wondered where he planned to take her for lunch.

Raoul did not attempt to put his arm around Christine´s shoulders, or anywhere else for that matter, and she was grateful. He did appear to be shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and as the feature progressed, he seemed more and more ill at ease.

The movie ended, and the rest of the audience shuffled out the theater exit. Christine rose, and she smiled down at Raoul, waiting. He stared up at her, his eyes wild.

"I can´t move!" he said through clenched teeth.

A long series of possible illnesses paraded through Christine´s mind in a flash, but – what could cause sudden paralysis?

"What´s wrong?" she asked, trying to keep panic at bay.

"I can´t move, Christine. I think I´m glued to the seat!"

"Glued to the seat?"

He was serious. Christine bent to examine his situation. She tugged at his coat. It was completely fixed to the red cloth of the seat and would not separate without tearing. His arms, back, seat and thighs were completely glued to the seat.

"Try taking your coat off, at least," suggested Christine.

"I can´t," he responded. "Whatever it is soaked through to my skin! I´m completely glued!"

They both continued to examine the chair carefully, and they were so absorbed that they did not notice the shadow which fell over them.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance," hissed Erik´s voice suddenly, and Christine jumped.

He was standing immediately behind Raoul, so that Raoul could not hope to see him, no matter how desperately he twisted in the seat. Christine could see him, however, and she immediately cursed herself for her reaction: her heart leapt with excitement, yet she was frightened at the same time.

Erik was dressed as impeccably as ever, and this time he wore gloves. His eyes glittered in the dimly-lit theater as he watched Raoul, and he extended one gloved hand slightly, ever so slightly, toward him; a knife, razor-sharp, flashed in his grasp.

Christine scarcely had time to gasp. The knife sliced quickly and cleanly between Raoul´s shoulder and the chair back; by some miracle, no blood had been drawn, but bare flesh was exposed.

"What the _hell_ do you think you´re doing?" gasped Raoul.

"I´m being of assistance, of course. Observe how I have separated your shoulder from the chair´s back. Now, if I were to separate your shoulders from your neck…"

"Erik…please…" she pleaded.

Erik stood, the knife poised inches from Raoul´s neck. He glanced up and met Christine´s terrified gaze.

"You will come with me now, won´t you, Christine? It´s rather late, and you haven´t had lunch yet. We´ll have an early supper..."

"Anything," she breathed, watching the blade. Erik´s expertise with it was undeniable, and very disturbing.

The knife disappeared in one quick, seamless motion.

"Well, then, that´s settled," he said lightly, and, his arm about Christine´s waist, he exited with her.

Raoul watched them both go, too terrified to utter a sound.

* * *

The drive to the restaurant was silent. Christine was too stunned to attempt conversation, and Erik was completely taciturn.

They arrived at the Rhapsody, a restaurant so exclusive that Christine had long ago discarded it from her mental charts – the waiting list by itself was daunting, and she had heard about the prices. She was surprised when they were escorted to a private dining room.

The door closed, and Erik took her coat, and his hands, now ungloved, lingered on her shoulders. Yet he was every inch a gentleman now as he pulled out her chair and concerned himself with her comfort. No trace of the knife-wielding madman remained.

Now that all apparent danger had subsided, Christine´s courage returned.

"Erik, I don´t know where to begin. How could you do that to Raoul? How could you…?"

"To you, I will apologize. It was not my intention to frighten _you_ at all."

"And Raoul? We just left him there…"

"The boy will be discovered, and someone will cut him out of the chair. He needed to learn his lesson…"

"And what lesson was _that?_" asked Christine, her anger rising.

Erik sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was like watered silk.

"You are hungry, Christine, and I wish for our time here together to be pleasant, don´t you? Look, here is some perfectly acceptable Cornish game hen. I beg you to defer all unpleasant subjects until the end of the meal."

Christine regarded him in disbelief._ The nerve!_ She was, indeed, hungry, however, and she tucked into her meal with an air of polite resentment.

Erik´s voice soothed her during the meal. He was once again the excellent conversationalist, and he spoke mostly about the Modern, filling her in on its history, old gossip, and anecdotes. He would stop every now and then to solicit Christine´s reaction or opinion, and she found herself relaxing in spite of herself. She was formulating a plan, though.

When they had finished dessert, she rose abruptly and fetched her coat. Erik, who had risen reflexively, too, helped her into it, whereupon she turned on her heel and faced him.

"Thank you for a wonderful meal. It´s been an interesting afternoon. I´ll take a cab home."

"Nonsense," he replied. "You may be angry, but I will have no such thing."

"Well, _I_ will have it! You have given me the most frightening, bizarre weekend of my life, and now I´m going to have to figure out how to calm down Raoul and how to convince people that I´m not engaged…"

"You _are_ engaged – very much so, and to me."

"Erik, don´t you think this joke´s gone far enough? I was practically ambushed at St. David´s today…"

"Do you really think that this is my idea of a joke? I´m insulted. My jokes are far better than that!"

"Erik! Please! You _can´t _be serious! This _can´t _be happening!" She covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed, and her thoughts flew to Raoul, her would-be savior, and all the questions he would have for her.

"Oh, Raoul," she murmured miserably.

Her arms were abruptly removed from her face, and she found herself within Erik´s unrelenting embrace. _Not again! _His face was barely two inches from hers, and he was furious.

"You seem to think about that boy far more than is appropriate, Christine. I have warned you, I have ways of inducing oblivion, and if you continue to defy me, _I will!" _he roared.

Instead of shrinking back, Christine furiously gathered her courage. Erik held her fast, and he held her tightly, much too tightly. She could not free her knee – a terrible shame, she thought – but her hands were free, and she was determined to fight back this time. Pushing against his shoulders would be useless, but there was something else she could do. Her hands went to his face, and before he had had time to react, she had pried his mask off. It fell to the carpeted floor noiselessly.

The silence was unbearable. Erik bore the helpless look of a man who had just been shot, and the pain in his eyes was terrible to Christine, more terrible than the newly-exposed side of his face, which was dreadful to behold. It was a masterpiece of grayish, pulsating, translucent-yet-scarred ugliness. Just liberated from the mask, it wore a sheen of sweat, which gave it an eerily gelatinous look. An amber eye glared from its socket, its fire dimmed by sorrow and the tears which were now starting.

Erik released Christine and fell to his knees, defeated. She looked at him, horrified by his pain. Was there a time when she might have relished such a victory? Perhaps, but she thought not.

"Christine…" he nearly whispered, "I might have known this would happen. How can I blame you? It was my fault, my fault from the very beginning. What would you say if I told you that I curse myself every day for that moment I mistreated you, so long ago now. If only I had that moment back! If I only could change how you feel about me now!

"And now…now you know everything. This face has always determined my fate, from the time when I was a boy and it frightened my own mother into hatred of me. How could I ask _you _to love me, then, especially after our cursed beginning? Nonetheless, there was something about you….I dared hope that love might grow. What a fool I have been!"

He was sobbing now, his face covered in his hands. Christine lowered herself to face him, kneeling. She felt something within herself, tight as a fist, open; she felt something free itself, beating its wings against his pain.

"Erik," she said softly, "You know it doesn´t matter. It could never matter, you know."

She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, and she was encouraged when he did not move away.

"You know me by now, Erik. You know I love you no matter…"

She stopped herself, horrified, and clapped a hand over her mouth. _Oh, my God!_

Erik stilled, and, forgetting the absence of a mask, lowered his hands from his face. He stared at Christine, whose eyes were distantly focused on the wall. She had both hands covering her mouth now. They spent several long moments thus.

"Christine, look at me," said Erik quietly, and, lost in the tumult of her emotions, Christine obeyed.

His eyes searched hers with hungry intensity, and Christine began to focus and recover herself.

"I didn´t mean it! I didn´t!" she insisted.

"Oh, but you did!" said Erik, and his eyes were brilliant. "Oh, you´ll never be free of me, now! Never! I shall haunt you, my dear Christine, to the end of my days."

"No!" Christine gasped. _Oh, my God!_

Erik stood, replaced his mask, and was once more the same regal figure as ever. Christine remained on the floor, frozen by mortification. He paused and looked down at her for a long while, and his eyes held something new: open, fearless adoration.

"I think it´s time we were going," he said cheerfully. "We´ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and you´ll certainly need some rest. Come," he said, gently pulling her from the floor.

"No!" responded Christine. "I´ll take a taxi. Let me clarify things to you: We are not engaged, I don´t belong to you, and I don´t love you. In fact, I hate you! I truly hate you – _you,_ you understand? I hate you for yourself!"

She turned to run out the door, but Erik easily stopped her and picked her up and, throwing her over his shoulder, left the restaurant. Christine was furious; she could not see much more than Erik´s back, thanks to her position, but she could hear the applause and hoots of other diners as they watched them exit.

"Trouble with your fiancée, Mr. DeJongh?" one masculine voice called out.

"We are _not _engaged!" shouted Christine, and the only audible response she could hear were amused murmurs and chortles.


	9. Chapter 9

**Oh, dear. I´ve written a very long chapter. Waaaay long! I really hope I´m not boring you to tears. You´ve been so very nice, and I really appreciate all the kind reviews. **

**Hugs to all!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

As they approached the car, Erik eased Christine gently down until she stood facing him. She was furious and certain to flee, so he continued to hold her arms.

"Christine, you need not be afraid," he said, "I simply wish to drive you home. A taxi, indeed…"

He opened the door, and Christine entered the car with some reluctance. It was all too easy for her to let him manage things. There was a chill in the air outside, though, and his car was warm and comfortable. His presence seemed to blanket her, and as they entered familiar neighbourhoods, she nearly dozed. She heard him humming happily, and every now and then she felt him glance at her. _Marvelous – he´s happy, and it´s all my fault! _she thought sleepily, but she could not marshal much resistance.

* * *

Once they had reached Auntie Val´s, Erik surprised Christine by gliding into the foyer behind her before she could close the door. Before she could issue a reproach, she heard footsteps approaching, and she turned to look at Auntie Val.

"Christine, what´s this about an engagement? What´s going on? When…?"

Gemma stopped when she saw Erik, who had emerged quietly from the shadows behind Christine.

A slight, elegant bow and a cordial introduction in Erik´s most velvety tones were all that Gemma needed to form a favourable first impression of him. Christine stood by, horrified.

"So, you´re Mr. DeJongh…"

"Please, madam, call me Erik…"

"Then you _must_ call me Gemma. Why, we´re practically family, now, aren´t we?"

"We´re not…" Christine cut in, but Erik interrupted her.

"I must apologize for my unforgivable bad manners. I believe that you are Christine´s guardian now, and I should have spoken with you before publishing the announcement," he said, as Gemma led him to a comfortable armchair in the living room.

"Auntie…" began Christine.

"Now, Christine, I think that you could make some coffee or tea…Mr. DeJongh, which would you prefer?"

Christine recognized this question as one of Auntie Val´s favourite tests of character: coffee was vulgar, she felt, but tea was a mark of intellect and high social standing.

To Christine´s dismay, Erik passed instantly, and with flying colors.

"I should love some tea, please," he answered, his eyes scanning the titles of the books which overstuffed the living-room bookshelves.

Suppressing a sigh, Christine went into the kitchen to prepare the tea. She felt confused and off-balance, as though she had just survived an ambush. When she came out with the tray, she found Auntie Val and Erik immersed in enthusiastic conversation.

"Now, I have Catullus, but I prefer Ovid´s poetry…" Auntie Val was saying.

"Indeed," said Erik, and, glancing at Christine, he added, "_Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido: Attice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans." _

Erik had discovered Gemma´s passion for classical poetry very quickly.

"Oh, yes…wonderful, just wonderful!" said Auntie Val in complete approbation, and Christine felt a pang. Her own adventure with Latin had ended with Caesar´s Gallic campaign.

"What does that mean?" she finally asked, aware that her ignorance was standing naked and blue in the cold.

Auntie Val turned her attention to Christine.

"It means, Every lover wages a war, Cupid has his own campaign. Believe me, Atticus, every lover wages a war.´"

Erik was looking steadily at Christine, who could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Well, now, Mr. DeJongh – forgive me – _Erik_, I must tell you that Christine is an excellent cook, and we have some of the tarts she made for today left in the kitchen. Christine, won´t you bring some of those fruit tarts out? They´re wonderful, and I´m sure Erik would love to try them," Auntie Val said, her eyes bright.

Christine was appalled. _She´s selling me! _

"Oh, Auntie Val, they´re not that good, and really, I´m sure Erik doesn´t …"

"Nonsense," said Erik, smiling. "Please, I would love to try them."

Christine fought the overwhelming urge to throw some heavy object at him, and went to the kitchen. She emerged with the tarts and offered some to Erik, who leaned forward with alacrity and picked one up. Keeping his gaze fastened on Christine, he ate the tart with such delicate relish that she blushed once more. How could he turn so simple an act as the eating of a tart into something so maddeningly intimate between the two of them?

Erik picked up another tart and prepared to repeat the scene. His long fingers nearly caressed it, and his eyes remained on Christine. She turned quickly away from him, pretending to look at the books on the bookcase.

During this time, Gemma had been bantering on about the Modern and its various productions, oblivious to the undercurrents between Erik and Christine.

"…and now I understand _La Forleo _will be singing Mimi again? I know Christine is thrilled with her place in the chorus. I´m so glad that she´s returned to the Modern! I really don´t understand what happened last week at all," she lamented.

Erik turned his attention to Gemma.

"You might say that Christine has received a promotion," he said. "You are perhaps aware that her voice is good, and that our regular tutoring sessions have improved it. _She _will be singing Mimi, not Miss Forleo."

"Goodness!" exclaimed Auntie Val, overwhelmed.

Erik leaned forward, his eyes on Gemma.

"I think you and I have something in common. We both want what´s best for Christine. She and I are engaged now, and I have come to seek your blessing; without wishing to abuse your generosity, I also seek something more. You see, Christine is reluctant to set a wedding date, and I would like to arrange for the wedding to take place at St. David´s as soon as possible…"

Christine, who had frozen near the bookcase, started to cough and choke on her own saliva.

"…You see, once Christine has sung a principal role, she will become a rather public figure, and I can provide her with such protection and security as she needs, but not if she is living away from me. Now, I am aware that, since she is like a daughter to you, you would not mind organizing such a wedding as you might see fit – I will provide the funds, of course," Erik continued.

"Oh, I would be delighted!" said Auntie Val, her eyes wide.

"We´re _not engaged!" _shouted Christine, finally finding her voice.

Auntie Val turned an irritated gaze on her.

"Then what would you call it, Dear? I know things have changed a great deal since _my _time, but still…"

"…and, of course, I wanted to consult you on the matter of the engagement ring. Now, I had this diamond set some weeks ago, thinking that I might present it to Christine after the wedding, but it occurs to me that it might prove acceptable…"

Erik drew a ring-box from his pocket and opened it with an air of elegant ennui. Auntie Val gasped. The diamond which had been set was large enough to see quite well from across the room, and it sparkled in the lamplight.

As Auntie Val drew closer to examine the ring, Christine started to step backwards.

"Christine! Come here!" Auntie Val barked, and Christine halted.

"Please," said Erik, lifting his gaze to Christine, and she saw such tenderness there that she moved slowly towards him, almost against her will.

"That is a _rock!_" exclaimed Auntie Val. "That´s ten carats, as I live and breathe!"

Erik stood and approached Christine and, grasping her left hand, slipped the ring onto her ring finger. He covered her hand with his briefly, then lifted her hand up, his fingertips under hers, so that Auntie Val could better admire the effect.

"I take it that this bauble will do?" asked Erik, watching Auntie Val´s reaction with the barest hint of a smile.

"Oh, that´ll do, that´ll definitely do!" gasped Gemma, her hand at her heart.

"Erik…this is too much. I just can´t wear this," said Christine, forcing a smile to hide her panic. The ring was heavy on her finger.

"Yes, she can!" cut in Auntie Val. "Christine, you just go into the kitchen and get Erik some more of those tarts. He seems to enjoy them! Erik, why don´t you have a seat and relax. Christine just needs to compose herself!"

Erik picked up his teacup and sat down in the armchair once more, while Christine headed toward the kitchen. She was only halfway across the room when the sound of the front door startled her. She watched the door to the foyer, alarmed. The only person who could enter the house without calling, besides herself, was Raoul.

"Auntie Val? Christine!" Raoul yelled, flying through the doorway to stand in the middle of the living-room. He did not perceive Erik, but instead stared at Christine for a minute, his eyes fairly bulging.

"Are you okay? Did he do anything to you? That son of a bitch!" he muttered rapidly.

"Raoul! Language!" reproached Auntie Val, and Raoul turned to look at his aunt.

"Did she tell you what happened today? Did she? This DeJongh ass – uh, jerk – had me _glued_ to my seat at the movie theatre! Then he threatened me with a knife! I thought I was dead, I swear I thought I was dead! Then he left with Christine, and I was stuck there for half an hour before anyone found me, and by the way, guess who found me! Linda – my ex-girlfriend, and it turns out she´s the manager at that theatre now. She called the staff, told them her version of why we broke up_, and then they painted my face and took pictures of me!" _

There was a short silence which was interrupted by the deliberate clinking of Erik´s teacup. Raoul jumped as he finally noticed him, and Erik stared at him, smiling derisively, his long legs crossed lazily in front of him.

"_You…!" _Raoul spat, his face fairly purple with rage.

Erik had set his teacup down and was drawing something from his suit pocket. Christine was relieved to see that, whatever it was, it was not a gun or a knife.

There was a long moment of tension during which all remained speechless. Then the doorbell rang, and Raoul charged towards Erik.

Erik flicked his wrist, and a slender cord, barely visible, flew across the room and looped and caught on a heavy antique andiron in the fireplace. The tautened cord blocked and tripped Raoul, who fell on his face and knocked the tea tray over with a crash. Bone china shattered all over the floor. The doorbell continued to ring.

"Raoul!" shrieked Auntie Val. "Oh, how could you?"

Christine surveyed the tableau before her quickly. Raoul was sprawled just in front of Erik on the floor, shards of china all around him. Auntie Val was standing, horrified, in the middle of the room, wringing her hands. Erik remained in his chair, unperturbed, viewing Raoul with the same detached interest with which one views a zoo exhibit. The cord he had used had disappeared somehow.

The doorbell continued to ring, and Christine was all too happy for the excuse to leave the living-room. She ran to open the door, and was surprised and happy to see Meg on the porch.

"Oh, Meg! Am I glad to see you!" she said, ushering her friend into the foyer. "You have no idea what´s happened!"

"Oh, I think I might," said Meg. "Raoul called me not long ago, and he was in hysterics. He´s here, right?"

"I´ll say he is!" said Christine. "Come have a look!"

She and Meg went into the living-room. Raoul had risen to his feet, and he was sheepishly picking up shards of china at his angry aunt´s behest. Upon seeing Meg, he froze and stared.

Meg was wearing her long, blonde hair down, and she was wearing an extremely short skirt and high heels. Her makeup was perfect, and her perfume seemed to fill the room. Christine observed that she seemed ready for a date.

"Well, Raoul? You see what happened?" started Meg. "I _told _you just to _call_ Christine. You see? She´s just fine!"

"I don´t know about that," muttered Raoul, and he glared at Erik, who was now at the other side of the room, thumbing through a botany guide. He ignored Raoul completely.

"Now, Raoul, tell me – what does it take for you to take a girl out to dinner? I know it´s late, but I wanted to try out these heels," said Meg playfully.

Both Raoul and Christine stared at Meg, stunned. The novelty of Meg´s sudden interest in Raoul confused them, but he recovered quickly.

"Yeah…right, let´s go," he said, tossing a few more pieces of broken china into the wastebasket and brushing himself off.

"Raoul!" said Auntie Val reproachfully, pointing at the rest of the mess.

"I´ll clean it up," said Christine quickly, and Erik put down his book to observe her openly.

As Raoul and Meg left and Christine went to fetch a dustpan, Auntie Val turned to Erik apologetically.

"I don´t know what´s gotten into my nephew. His manners are usually much better than this!"

* * *

After a few more pleasantries, Christine showed Erik to the door, while Auntie Val remained tactfully in the living-room.

Erik pulled Christine in for a deep kiss, and she was too tired to fight it; she would certainly never admit to enjoying it. He took full advantage of the peace her passivity afforded the moment, and he held her for as long as she would permit. Finally, she pushed against him.

"I want my life back," she told him, and she saw something restless flicker in his eyes.

"And I cannot live without you," he countered. "Yet I shall leave you here and return to my home without you tonight. Every day we part, and I have tolerated it patiently, Christine, because I must treat you with respect. My patience is ending. You belong with me."

"I want my life back," she repeated to him as he brushed a tendril of loose hair away from her face.

"No," he whispered, and was gone.

* * *

"So _that _was Erik DeJongh," said Auntie Val as Christine came into the living-room and started to clean up what was left of the mess. She glanced at her bejewelled left hand; it looked incongruous holding a dustpan.

"Yes, Auntie, that was Erik DeJongh," answered Christine tiredly.

"There was a time, way back, when I would never have dreamed he´d turn out so well," the older woman murmured.

"Turn out so well?" repeated Christine, looking at her curiously.

"Oh, yes. I knew his mother, you know," she said, as she checked behind the chairs for more shattered china.

Christine straightened up and looked at Gemma, astonished.

"Auntie Val, please sit down and tell me what you know about him. He…he tells me so little!"

"Ah, well…" said Gemma, as she obligingly sat down in the armchair Erik had abandoned, "there´s not much to tell – not about Erik, at least. But his mother…"

She shook her head.

"We were in the Minerva Club together, you know. Maria DeJongh was younger than I, and she was the prettiest thing you ever saw, and so very brilliant, too. She and I both loved the classics, and we got on well, on an intellectual level.

"But she was spoiled, Christine, hopelessly spoiled. She had been doted on as a beautiful and accomplished only child, and she had married a husband who doted on her every bit as much as her wealthy parents had. Oh, but she was lovely and graceful! Like a gazelle, she was.

"Well, we could laugh off her tantrums and her demands for attention in social circles, but then she became an expectant mother. We had never seen anyone happier than she was – she had waited until late to have a baby; I think she was in her late thirties. Those in the club who were already mothers were quietly worried about what kind of a mother she would make. She expected to deliver a perfect child, a veritable Messiah, it seems, and children aren´t perfect – they´re simply a lot of work, and she was a poor fit for hard work.

"Then the worst thing happened. Her husband died in a traffic accident just two weeks before she delivered, and she was left alone. Her own parents had passed away by then, and she had no relatives to speak of. She had an unrealistic idea of what it was to have a baby. She expected hers to be of solace to her, and it didn´t help her when people commiserating with her over her husband´s loss told her, ´At least you´ll have the baby to comfort you!´

"Then poor Erik was born, and in addition to being a baby – that is, a creature with non-stop needs – his face was terribly deformed on one side. His eyes were unusual, too.

"Well, that just about sent poor Maria around the bend. We did what we could to help out before she shut us out, but it was clear she was neglecting her baby.

"She was very fragile mentally, you know. She developed these odd ideas about Erik, and we heard all kinds of rumors. That´s all we could rely on – rumors, because she shut Erik up in the house, away from the world. We never saw him. We scarcely saw her, either.

"Rumor had it that she thought he was possessed and tried to have the poor child exorcised several times. That he terrified her, and that he was much too intelligent for a normal child his age. She became more frightened of him when, somehow, he grew too big and strong for her.

"Frightened of him! Talk about irony. The most persistent rumors had it that Erik was taking care of his mother.

"Anyway, there was a fight between mother and son, and Erik ran away. He was only about fifteen or sixteen, and Maria didn´t bother looking for him. Two years passed with no news of him, then three.

"Maria became involved with a man after that, a blackguard who took what was left of her fortune. When she discovered him with another woman, she took her own life."

"And what about Erik?" Christine asked, fighting tears.

"I can see you care for him a great deal," said Auntie Val softly, giving her a quick, penetrating glance. She continued.

"After that, I only know what everybody else knows – from the newspapers, mostly. Erik came back about eight or ten years ago, and he was a wealthy businessman, patron of the arts, composer, architect – a genius. Very few of us old folks are still around to remember Maria and all that happened. Well, it´s best that way. Let sleeping dogs lie.

"I´m glad to see that he has truly become such a fine man! With such beginnings, it takes a real man to become what _he_ has become."

* * *

Nadir entered Erik´s study late that evening, newspaper in hand. He sat down quietly in his usual armchair, availed himself of the footstool, and lit a cigarette, listening. Erik was in the throes of something exquisite, romantic and new at the piano, and Nadir shut his eyes.

The music stopped, and Erik started to jot something down.

"So, old boy, I see you´re inspired! I suppose, then, that you´ve had a better day than I´ve had," Nadir began, then waited for the desired response: _Well, Nadir, let´s hear what kind of a day you´ve had!_

Erik grunted. That was encouragement enough.

"I´ve had to spend the day with Carla, you know. She´s still terribly upset about all that´s happened, and I´ve had to calm her down – breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and unending promises that her professional life is not at an end. She requires such patience!" Nadir sighed.

"I don´t know why you waste time on that – _woman_, and I use the word loosely. I had thought she would leave as soon as I made her Christine´s understudy," said Erik coldly.

"Erik, I know she is an extremely disagreeable person, but she has feelings, and some of them involve you," replied Nadir.

"Her _feelings, _as you so generously call them, involve status, money, and power – not _me_," snapped Erik, and he walked across the room to his desk, where he began to sift through some papers.

Nadir held his cigarette between his fingers and let its smoke curl in delicate wisps around him; then he took another puff and, watching Erik, decided to change the subject.

"So, what have you been up to today? Have you had an interesting Sunday?"

Erik smiled slightly. "Yes, indeed."

Nadir waited. "You´ve seen Christine, then?"

"Of course."

"You´ve taken my advice to heart, then?"

"Oh, I´ve taken your advice," said Erik.

Nadir smiled, relaxing more.

"You don´t know how happy I am to hear that! Things will go smoothly, then. After a day like today, that´s all I care to hope for!"

He turned his attention to the newspaper, flipping through the pages slowly.

"Not a spare minute today even to read the paper," he murmured. "Imagine! Local News…abysmal…World News…cataclysmic…Sports News…Well, these savages don´t play cricket…Society…weddings and…engagements…"

There was a silence. Erik glanced at Nadir, a smile playing about his lips.

"_Erik!" _


	10. Chapter 10

**Greetings, All, and thank you for all your kind reviews. I really appreciate feedback of any kind, you know, and I received a suggestion that really made me think. I have to agree with the reviewer who pointed out that Christine is frustrated and being made to shut up, and that she needs to fight to put herself on some type of equal footing with Erik.**

**Well, that´s tough to do. Christine is at a definite disadvantage and has very little room to maneuver. Erik´s just a bit much for her. However, she does have spirit, and I thought that this chapter might deal with that a little. She can fight Erik in her own way!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

Christine spent a restless night thinking over the events of the day. The ring in the ring-box glinted at her from her bedside table, proof that she had not been dreaming.

Before last week, she had been inclined to dismiss Erik´s feelings for her as something temporary. She had always expected his attentions towards her to wane, and had wondered how much time would pass before he would discard her as a child discards a new hobby.

Now his first kiss came to mind. Her instincts then had been correct – his passion had been terrifying in its power and, behind it, a sense of implacable permanence, as though it formed part of every molecule in his body.

Yet she had refused to believe her own instincts, and she had accused Erik of considering her "an attractive piece of ass." She remembered the night well, and the expression in his eyes as she delivered the phrase. Was the upcoming wedding merely his response to that?

No, she decided, it was not. He was not proving a point. For some reason, he _wanted_ a marriage. Could this be love?

Could love be such an obsessive, domineering thing? Perhaps, if it was not the only feeling Erik had in his heart. Perhaps, if it came accompanied by bitter insecurities, the sad gifts of a wretched childhood.

_Do I love him? _Christine hated asking herself this question, but now she took her feelings out of the closet, dusted them off, and examined them. She had certainly never felt such physical attraction to anyone else, but there was something deeper, much deeper, there. She sighed. _Yes, I love him. _

_But where does he get off treating me like this? Who does he think he is? Did it ever occur to him to ask me what I want, or how I feel? _

_What can I do to get his attention, to let him know that I´ve a mind of my own?_

She had fled him once, but he had proven that escaping him was impossible. That option was not viable. Besides, what did it achieve if she was so unlucky as to love him? She would only hurt herself.

Christine continued to consider. _What do I do that really upsets or bothers him? _

He seemed dismally happy with her character, behaviour, manner of dressing – in short, everything about her. Why, she could run naked and screaming through the Modern…._Wait a minute! Naked…hmmmm…_

She thought back on how upset he had been at the ball, when she had dressed so revealingly.

_Very well, Erik – you think you own me, do you? Let´s see how you like me exposed to the public eye without a stitch of clothing on!_

* * *

Monday morning arrived. Erik had reluctantly excused Christine from their morning tutoring session in order for her to rest longer. Nonetheless, she arrived at the Modern just on time, as fatigued as she was from the weekend´s events. Meg looked at her from across the hall before heading off to her own rehearsal, and the message in her eyes was unmistakable: _We are SO going to talk!_

News of Christine´s engagement had preceded her, and her fellow chorus members seemed to avoid her, though she often surprised people staring at her, and she could hear the buzz of murmurings. She sank into a chair and sorted through her music. She knew the role of Mimi quite thoroughly through previous rehearsals, and Erik had put her through her paces on Saturday, but she studied her chorus part instead. Nothing seemed real to her. How could anyone accept such an abrupt change just two weeks before opening night?

George Reznik, the director, was late showing up this morning. Surprisingly, Carla Forleo was in evidence, sitting with her klatch near the front and ignoring Christine completely. _Back to her old self, _thought Christine.

There was a ripple of sudden conversation punctuated by exclamations as all heads turned toward the entrance, and Christine looked to see George Reznik enter, accompanied by Erik DeJongh. Erik was often heard – mostly through terse messages – but rarely seen at the Modern, and during the few times he had chosen to address the artists in person, he had succeeded in frightening them. There was a general air of tension.

Both men went to the front of the concert hall, and George got up on the stage, clipboard in hand. Erik was content to stand facing the group, but his attention was focused on some papers in his hand, and he riffled through them, marking them with a pen from time to time.

"Hey, folks," George began. "Well, it´s Monday, and now it´s my duty to inform you all of some changes in this production….well, to be specific, of a change in the, um, principal role. Carla Forleo will not be Mimi…"

Here, there was a murmur which gradually grew in volume. George held his hands up.

"Christine Daaé will be playing the role," he continued, a slight tremor to his voice.

"This is bullshit! How can you treat Carla this way, after all the years and work she´s put into the Modern?" It was Gerri Caldwell, an alto who had worked for years in secondary roles and on the chorus. She was one of Carla´s most constant friends.

"Why should Carla lose her role just because someone in the chorus happens to be good in bed? I mean, let´s face it…that´s what this is about, right? Are we going to just sit back and let this happen to Carla…?"

"_You,_ at least, are not going to be here to ´sit back and let this happen´ to Miss Forleo," hissed Erik, his eyes on Gerri, "You will leave, Miss Caldwell, right his minute!"

Gerri looked frightened, but she issued a feeble protest.

"You can´t do that to me! You can´t, because…"

"I am not certain, Miss Caldwell, what Miss Forleo has told you, but I assure you that I _can _´do that´! I will not tolerate any such rebellion against my decisions, and I will not tolerate such slander!" Erik thundered. "Yes, I know of the mutiny Miss Forleo has coordinated among some of you, and I can assure you that she is trading on nothing more that putative power. She holds no position of influence at the Modern and can do less than nothing to advance your careers. Witness, if you will, what she has done for Miss Caldwell."

He pointed towards Gerri, who rose rapidly and, gathering together her things, left the concert hall, tears running down her face.

The klatch of people surrounding Carla shifted uncomfortably. Whatever rebellion she had planned had been effectively aborted. Carla glared at Erik openly, but he ignored her and addressed the group once more.

"Two weeks remain before _La bohème _opens. I expect excellence, especially of such a routine production. Miss Daaé is thoroughly professional and will handle her newly-assigned role well. I will not tolerate any rudeness towards her, or any hostility of any kind, from anyone."

Without one word more, Erik strode up the aisle to leave. All eyes were upon him, and as he approached the door, Christine could see Nadir waiting for him beside it. He handed Erik a briefcase, and before they both exited, Nadir caught Christine´s eye and gave her a brief, sympathetic smile.

* * *

George began to rehearse the cast once it had adjourned to the rehearsal room, and he was astonished and relieved by how well Christine sang her new part. Every hour she had spent under Erik´s tutelage had had as its purpose her assuming the role of Mimi, she now realized. The other cast members treated her with a type of terrified respect, except for Carla, who sulked in a corner.

Meg approached Christine at lunchtime, just as she was finishing a conversation with an old acquaintance.

"…No, I have no trouble making it over anytime after six-thirty…Seven-thirty?...No problem, Rose. I think it´s great that I can start this evening. The sooner, the better, and I just hope I can do it well…"

Meg listened with open curiosity as Christine ended the conversation.

"Hey, Christine – whatcha up to?" she asked.

"Nothing much. I´ve got a friend from university who runs a type of open art studio – I´ll be visiting her this evening, that´s all," Christine responded evasively.

_A bit of a white lie. _How could she tell Meg that she would be modelling in the nude? The news could easily make its way to Erik. She wanted Erik to find out, of course, but not until the right moment.

"So, Meg, tell me about you and Raoul…Are you a couple now?" asked Christine. She felt only the ghost of a pang at the thought.

"Are you kidding? Look, Honey, I understand that you had a thing for the guy once, but do you really know him?"

"I´ve known him since we were kids!" Christine protested, stung.

"But there were some years you two spent out of touch, right? When you were growing up?" persisted Meg.

"Well, yes," admitted Christine.

"So you don´t know him _that _well as an adult. Look, if you ever go out with Raoul, you notice two things. First off, he only talks about _himself._ He´s in love with himself! Second, he´s always looking at other women when he´s with you. Even when he´s talking to you, he´s always checking them out.

"I understand his ex-girlfriends really well now, even though I never met them. I mean, he was telling _his _side of the story of his last relationship, and it´s pretty clear he cheated. He thought his ex should have been more _understanding_. Then you know what he asks me? You wanna hear it?

"´What´s wrong with women?´ he asks me. Can you imagine _that_?" asked Meg, throwing up her hands.

Christine was quiet. There was no question about it now: Raoul, her childhood hero, had feet of clay.

Finally, she rallied.

"He did his best to help me out when I was in trouble. He got me a job taking care of Auntie Val, and then, when he saw I was in trouble, he got me a job at his firm," she asserted.

Meg looked at her with the same sympathetic expression a nurse wears preparatory to vaccinating a small child.

"Maybe you don´t know it, but Raoul was really relieved when he got you to take the job with his Auntie Val. Nobody else could fit the bill, you know. He´d interviewed and checked work histories, and the people who didn´t want too much salary had some really dubious pasts. Then you came along – desperate, cheap, and trustworthy. What could have been better? And now that you aren´t really caring for Auntie Val anymore, Raoul is just happy that someone he trusts is there to keep an eye on her. I know you aren´t being paid anymore, but he even told me how much you were making back then, and, Honey, he was paying you a pittance…"

"He takes good care of his aunt!" protested Christine, cut to the quick.

"He hopes to inherit from his aunt, and she knows it. Have you ever noticed how she talks to him, as if she doesn´t think much of him? She knows what he´s really like."

Christine was silent. The scales had fallen from her eyes.

"Well, if you see what he´s like so clearly, then why do you go out with him?" asked Christine, finally.

"To get him away from _you_!" spat Meg. "He may be a jerk, but he could be a very dead jerk if he begins to annoy Mr. DeJongh too much!"

Meg was steaming, and Christine was stunned, so silence reigned during a few moments.

"You think Erik would really…" Christine started.

"Forget it!" said Meg. "Forget I ever said that. I didn´t mean it. I just don´t want any trouble, that´s all."

They finished lunch in a thoughtful silence.

* * *

_Trouble is what there´s going to be, sooner or later, _thought Christine as she undressed in the bathroom at Rose´s art studio. She put on a bathrobe and put her clothes in a bag to leave in the bathroom. When she came out, Rose was waiting for her.

"I can´t tell you how grateful I am that you´re doing this," Rose repeated. "We just can´t afford to pay fees, you know, just getting off the ground as we are."

She gave Christine a small hug. The two women had been friends off and on during their student days. Unlike Christine, Rose had been a free spirit – she was an artist, and she believed in free love, unlimited joints, and anarchy. There had been friendly arguments between the two, but sometimes Rose could become impatient with Christine.

"You´re so _repressed!_" Rose had spat on one occasion, and Christine had never forgotten it. Now, years later, she thought that perhaps Rose had been right.

"We have a type of dais over there, so you can recline and pose. There will be about ten artists coming in tonight, and they are all serious about this, so you don´t have to worry. They don´t give a damn about how you look, they´re only interested in lines, textures, and composition, and this is incredibly good practice for them.

"You´ll want to strike several rapid poses – you know, about five minutes each? And then you can lengthen them later.

"We´ve turned the heat up for you, by the way, so we aren´t the totally cheap, ungrateful wretches you may think we are," concluded Rose.

Rose had just finished arranging Christine on the dais. She reclined completely in the nude, but somehow she felt comfortable in the setting. The artists filed in. Rose had been right – there were about ten or eleven men and women. They scarcely glanced at Christine until they were seated with their pencils and charcoals. Then, there was absorbed silence while they looked at Christine and sketched rapidly.

"Could you hold that position a little longer? I want to get the line of your neck right," said one, breaking the silence. Christine obliged.

She changed position occasionally, marvelling at how difficult it was to hold so still for even five minutes. The silence and the soft scraping of pencils on pads lulled her, and the warmth of the studio nearly caused her to doze. An hour passed.

The sound of someone banging on the outside door split the silence. Everyone jumped at the noise, and there were a few giggles at how immersed in work everyone had been.

"Don´t answer it," Rose said. "It´s probably someone´s wife."

There was an amused murmur, and everyone went back to work.

The banging became more insistent. Rose looked annoyed, but she was not worried. The door had been carefully locked for the session with Christine.

Rose moved into the foyer, and her voice could be heard yelling at whoever was at the door.

"This studio is closed! Go away!"

There was a silence, then a metallic sound which was a combination of rattles and clicks. A blast of cold air entered the studio at the same time as Rose screamed.

"You have no right…! I´ll call the cops! No, you´re not going in there!"

However, the intruder _was _going in there, and Erik flew into the studio itself. Upon seeing Christine, he paused for a moment, his eyes wild; yet he did not move, though he trembled as though balanced on some type of precipice.

"Hello, Erik!" greeted Christine as coolly as she could. "Do you think you could close the door, please? It´s getting kind of cold in here."

She moved to her side now as languorously as possible, giving everyone in the studio a frontal view of her body. The artists, who had frozen during the interruption, began to return to their sketchbooks, hoping that the intruder would sit down in some out-of-the-way corner.

For once, Erik was speechless, but he moved now, and, finding Christine´s robe, quickly draped it over her.

"Home…!" he choked out.

"No," said Christine calmly, pulling the robe off of herself.

"You know this guy?" said Rose, who had been standing in the doorway with her phone at the ready.

"Yes, sort of," said Christine, and she winked at Erik. "He has a hang-up about nudity. He wants to _repress _me."

"Oh," said Rose, in disgusted tones, "a _boyfriend._ Hey, stop covering her, would you? Andy hasn´t even started on her breasts yet!"

"Her…_breasts_?" hissed Erik, hurriedly covering Christine and doing his best to block everyone´s view of her.

Christine felt a surge of power at seeing Erik so nonplussed. She had always been so predictable, so easy to manage, for him. Now it was time for her to push back, and she intended to make the most of it. She seized her bathrobe and pitched it across the room.

That galvanized Erik, who in three quick motions had taken his coat off, wrapped it around Christine, and had lifted her into his arms. She fought and kicked, and part of his coat slipped off of her; an exposed breast pressed against his collarbone, and he froze, then bolted out the door, Christine pressed against him. Rose´s voice, raised in protest, could be heard behind them.

As he pushed her into his waiting car, Christine stopped fighting and started to giggle uncontrollably.

"My clothes are in a bag in Rose´s studio, Erik, I´m afraid you´ll have to go back and get them!" she said.

He turned the key in the ignition.

"You won´t be needing clothes, my love," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye.


	11. Chapter 11

**Blessings and graces to all those who have so kindly reviewed! I really appreciate it.**

**Real life has been a bit harsh lately, so I´ve been a bit slow to update. Sorry!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**"So," said Christine, seething, as Erik drove them towards the Modern, "how did you find out I was modeling?"

She suspected that Meg or Mrs. Giry might have said something.

"Why aren´t you wearing your engagement ring?" asked Erik.

Christine spluttered in outrage at the non sequitur.

"First of all, we´re _not _engaged. Secondly, how could you expect me to go out wearing a ring like that? Someone could easily mug me!"

"Do you think I would run an advertisement in the newspaper announcing my engagement without providing my fiancée with security? You are being watched by extremely competent people," responded Erik, "and I was notified by these invaluable people of your escapade at the art studio. I only regret not having arrived sooner – as it was, I interrupted a very important meeting…"

"Back up, would you?" said Christine. "We´re _not _engaged!"

Erik turned briefly to smile at her. There was something in his expression that caused her to pull his coat around herself more tightly.

"And…what did you mean when you said I won´t be needing clothes?" asked Christine.

"You shall see," he replied.

When Erik finally stopped in his select spot in the parking garage under the Modern, Christine moved to get out of the car. Her bare feet had just touched the cold concrete when she felt herself lifted easily into Erik´s arms.

"Put me down!" she hissed, struggling with all her might. "I can walk!"

"Your feet are bare, and one never knows what they might encounter on this floor," replied Erik. "However, I would greatly enjoy it if you would please continue to struggle."

Christine stopped and covered a breast which had come uncovered during her efforts to free herself. She risked a glance at Erik: his smile was dangerous, and his eyes were blazing. Then she turned and noted, with alarm, that they were about to walk into a wall.

"Erik…!" she started, but he merely touched the wall, and a door opened, revealing a dimly-lit passageway.

Christine relaxed in Erik´s arms and exhaled. He continued to carry her through a long maze of hallways, then stopped in the middle of one long corridor. His grip on her tightened; she looked up at him, and she felt a liquid heat within her as she succumbed, unwillingly, to his gaze. He kissed her then, his tongue invading her mouth savagely, and his right hand searched for and found her breast under his coat. He inhaled sharply as his fingers probed and explored; his whiskers scraped her chin, then her cheek, then her neck as he nuzzled it. Christine was lost to him, her arms about his neck, her fingers unconsciously caressing his dark hair. She felt suddenly weak, and although she tried to summon her defenses, she could not.

Erik managed, somehow, to press some hidden mechanism in the baseboard with his foot, and a door slid open to reveal his study; within, Nadir sat in his habitual armchair, wreathed in cigarette smoke, and Carla sat in a chair beside him.

The door slid shut behind them as Erik continued to kiss Christine. Nadir, clearly the victim of panic, began to tiptoe out of the room, thankful for the plush rugs scattered about, since they rendered him virtually noiseless. Carla, however, was far from frightened, and she cleared her throat noisily.

Erik stiffened and nearly dropped Christine, and Nadir stopped in his tracks, offering the couple an involuntary panicked stare just as the coat slipped off of Christine. She frantically pulled it back on at the same instant that Erik tightened it around her, and they heard Carla´s quick bark of laughter.

"Kissus interruptus?" she said, leering.

"Oh, merciful heavens!" muttered Nadir.

There was a terrible silence during which Erik´s increasingly livid countenance testified his effort to gain control of himself. He addressed Nadir first.

"What…are…you-doing-here?" he hissed.

"You left the board meeting so abruptly, and there were one or two items more which were discussed. I came to inform you…" started Nadir.

"Accompanied by _that_?" Erik questioned, indicating Carla with a jerk of his head.

Carla smiled derisively, following the dialogue with interest.

"Yes…well…Carla has been very upset about her situation, and she insisted on seeing you, and I saw no problem in letting her in…"

"No problem? _No problem?_ You let that baggage into my inner sanctum at a time when I am not even expecting _you _to be here, and you see no problem´? I am about to demonstrate to you what a _problem_ is in fact and deed, my dear Nadir!" he roared, taking two slow, menacing steps forward.

Christine, meanwhile, had been examining a button near the door which had just slid shut. She wanted nothing more dearly than to disappear behind its wood panelling and hide within the secret passageway. She pushed the button, and a spray of darts crossed the room, just missing Erik and impaling themselves in the furniture, on the wall, and in one of Carla´s legs. The diva issued a bloodcurdling scream and an incoherent accusation before she fainted.

"Oh, splendid, my love!" said Erik brightly, turning to Christine in approval. "Why didn´t I think of that myself?"

He turned to Nadir. "Isn´t she brilliant?" he asked.

"Oh, she´s lovely," said Nadir offhandedly.

Erik stiffened.

"Of _course _you think she´s _lovely_! You _would _put it that way, now that you´ve seen her in the altogether! Tell me, Nadir, how would you like me to erase the memory of this evenin_g _from your mind completely? – Oh, yes, I know I´ve done it to you before, but the _painful _way, this time!"

Nadir was looking at Carla worriedly, though, oblivious to Erik´s threats.

"Erik, please…the antidote! You can´t let Carla lapse into a permanent coma!"

"Whyever not? It would be a remarkable improvement…"

"Well, because she still has a splendid voice!"

"Christine´s eclipses hers completely," responded Erik evenly.

"…and she´s still Christine´s understudy. What if Christine needs a rest one night?"

"Oh, very well," murmured Erik in resignation, and he went to a large antique secretary in one of the corners and pulled open the front. Within, inside a multitude of pigeonholes, were different vials, all carefully labelled in Erik´s even hand. He selected one, pulled out a syringe, and extracted a dosage. He approached Carla and examined her arm while Nadir carefully extracted the darts from her legs.

"Wouldn´t it be better administered intramuscularly?" asked Nadir, looking up at Erik inquiringly.

"I absolutely refuse!" spat Erik.

"But Erik…!" protested Nadir.

"If you wish to administer it _there, _you may do so yourself!" Erik said, and Nadir sighed.

"Very well…help me to move her, at least?"

"You are on your own, my dear friend, and I wish you luck. I do not wish to touch this harpy!"

"I´ll help!" offered Christine unexpectedly, still clinging to Erik´s coat.

Erik was so surprised by her offer that he simply nodded once, and Christine helped Nadir to turn Carla. She then pulled down her Italian designer slacks to expose one very well-nourished-looking gluteus.

"Rubbing alcohol? Cotton?" asked Christine, and, upon looking up, she saw that both men were staring at her in disbelief. She smiled.

"Permanent ink?" she added, and directed an especially cherubic smile at Erik, who nodded, turned on his heel, and returned seconds later with the three items she had requested.

After sterilizing a patch of flesh and allowing Nadir to administer the antidote, she drew a thick, black arrow with a pen, and wrote in block letters beneath, "THIS END UP."

"There!" she said, sighing with satisfaction. As childish and self-indulgent as the exercise had been, she felt better for it.

"Well, Nadir, I suppose you may take the patient and leave," said Erik, once they were finished.

"No!" exclaimed Christine, alarmed at the prospect of being alone with Erik now. "No, please. Please let him stay," she said to Erik.

Erik pressed his lips together and frowned his displeasure.

"I really wouldn´t mind having a bit of help carrying Carla," said Nadir. "You know how my back is! So, unless someone helps me to lift her, I´m afraid that she, at least, will be staying."

"Very well," sighed Erik. "You will excuse us, then. Christine, you will come with me," he added, seizing her wrist.

Surprised, Christine permitted Erik to lead her to a door at the end of the study. After pressing a combination, he opened it to reveal a hallway and living-room: the rest of his house. She glimpsed some tapestries and some landscapes, and several busts, but Erik led her through a door off to the side, which belonged to an enormous bedroom.

Christine stopped in her tracks and glared at Erik. He sighed.

"I shall leave you here, where you will have privacy. If you look into one of the closets, you will find clothes which should fit you."

He left with a lingering gaze.

* * *

Christine turned her attention to the bedroom, amazed at its size. Impressive windows, nearly ten feet high, lined one side of the room, and she could discern a starlit garden outside, since the heavy curtains had not been drawn. Plush oriental rugs covered the hardwood floor, and there were a pair of ornate bureaus, a dresser, and an area in the corner of the room with a desk and a pc, somewhat hidden by a Moorish screen.

The bed drew her unwilling attention. It was a masterpiece of sensual textures – eiderdowns, pillows, and coverlets in myriad fabrics and textures, with one common theme: red. Implied red, sensual red, matrimonial red, red mixed with earth tones, with velvet and satin textures, but implacably, almost disturbingly, red. _An altar, _Christine thought, but stopped herself, horrified at the implications. The bed was smaller than seemed suitable for such a room, and she wondered why. It was a standard queen-size – nothing out of the ordinary.

There were bedside tables, marble-topped antiques, and she noticed that one clearly belonged to a lady. Atop it, there was an alabaster box whose bottom was a nest and whose lid was formed by a nesting dove. Nearby, there was an elegant array of unopened perfumes, and a picture in a frame. Christine looked closer: it was a photo of herself and her father, an exact copy of one from her own collection. She nearly jumped back, and she looked at the other bedside table, frightened of what she might see there. She approached, and she noticed, first, an elaborate sculpture: an owl in flight, talons outstretched as if ready to grasp its prey. It had been wrought in some dark mineral – onyx, perhaps? Jet? Yet its eyes seemed to glow an iridescent yellow. There was a photo in a frame, too, and Christine saw that it was one of herself – her face, nearly in profile. Her hair was down, and her gaze was thoughtful, nearly dreamy. She wondered when it had been taken, and where.

When she was able to breathe calmly again, she remembered her current state of undress and entered the walk-in closet. Designer dresses and slacks were hanging within, all of them perfectly modest and perfect for a mature woman of about sixty. Christine wondered, fleetingly, whether Erik had a taste for older women, and who he had been entertaining. She checked the drawers, and she found underwear and lingerie within. These were different: they were sexy, risqué, suggestive, and they were intended for a voluptuous younger woman with adventuresome tendencies. They were new – many still had tags on them, and she helped herself to a brassiere and some panties. They fit her perfectly, and a nagging thought formed in her mind. _An angel by day, a devil by night? Erik, we are definitely going to have a talk!_

She found some jeans on the shelf. _At least these are acceptable_! They fit her perfectly, as she had suspected, and she helped herself to a sweater and some loafers.

She put Erik´s coat on a hanger, and quickly examined his side of the closet. Dark suit, dark suit, dark suit; white, long-sleeved shirt, white, long-sleeved shirt, etc. _Hmmm._

She went back to the lingerie drawer again and extracted a lacy bustier set and thong knickers. _Erik is going to hear me! _

She strode toward the door.

* * *

As soon as Erik returned to the study, Nadir congratulated him warmly.

"Well done, old man! I had no idea that Christine had accepted your proposal, but it´s evident she has! My warmest congratulations!" he said, aglow with happiness for his friend.

"Ehm….thank you," said Erik. "Nadir, I need your help with a rather sensitive matter…"

Nadir stiffened. "It doesn´t involve Carla, does it?"

Erik waved a hand in elegant dismissal.

"No, no, not at all! No. You see, the thing is – well, Christine had a bit of an adventure this evening…"

"An adventure?"

"She…she has done a rather creditable impression of the Duchess of Alba…"

"You mean…the Velázquez masterpiece?" queried Nadir, trying his best to suppress a smile.

Erik inclined his head in assent.

"Christine has posed in the nude?"

Erik inclined his head and ground his teeth.

"Erik, if this involves photographers…"

"_NO! _This does not involve photographers! She would never do that! No, this involves a rather grungy, flea-bitten group of sketch artists with pencils always at the ready, ready to record every detail, every last patch of skin…!"

He was beginning to rant, so Nadir interrupted him.

"This involves an art studio, then. Just what would you have me do? Must I go over to them and bribe them to hand over their sketch pads?"

"Exactly!" rasped Erik. "Otherwise, I shall be obliged to kill them, and some of them are female!"

"Calm yourself, calm yourself," said Nadir, soothingly. "Simply give me the name and address of the studio and I shall use my habitual charm – and largesse – towards the noble end of saving lives. Of course, the _largesse _will be _yours,_" he concluded, grinning.

Erik stood, tense and glaring, his hands balled into fists. Nadir was relieved when the bell rang, and he went into the foyer to open the door to one of the security men, who wordlessly handed him a bag.

He returned to the study, slowly rifling through the contents of the bag.

"Well, here´s Christine´s purse," he said, placing it in a chair, and he reached into the bag and pulled out a brassiere with an absentminded air. "And here´s…"

Nadir suddenly found himself slammed against the wall. Erik had a hand on his throat, and his face was inches away, his eyes flaming coldly.

"It is very late, Nadir – very late, indeed. I have had quite enough for one day, don´t you think?" he hissed.

The door opened abruptly, and Christine walked in, holding the thong knickers aloft and twirling them about.

"Erik, I really like these just fine – they´re for me, aren´t they? And the bustiers are fantastic. The sexy lingerie is just adorable, especially the cut-out parts, you know? But those dresses…!"

She interrupted herself as she took in the situation before her. Both men were frozen – Nadir still with his back to the wall, Erik still gripping his throat – but they were staring at her owlishly. She looked more carefully, and saw something white on the floor. It was her brassiere, and Erik´s right heel was smashing one of its cups.

"Erik, what´s going on, and why are you standing on my bra?" she asked, hands on her hips.

Erik jumped back as if scalded and stared at the object on the floor. Nadir walked sedately to his habitual armchair and started to light a cigarette. Carla, still prostrate, began to snore slightly, a line of drool trailing down her chin. Christine noticed her bag, and started rifling through it.

"Well, thank you for having your man bring my bag…and there´s my purse. Good! Now, I´ll have to wash that bra," she said, walking over to Erik, who had remained frozen in place. He watched as she bent, dusted off her brassiere, and put it in her bag.

Erik seemed vulnerable and somewhat off-balance now, so Christine decided that it was a good moment to air her feelings.

"Erik, I really am impressed by that bedroom and all the effort you´ve gone to, but, you know, you´ve never asked me to marry you…" started Christine. She was playing with the lace on the thong now, and Erik´s eyes were on her fingers as they caressed its satin.

"Marry me!" he croaked, and Nadir abandoned all pretense of reading the finance section of the newspaper to stare at him openly.

Christine was startled, and her hands stilled. Erik´s eyes met hers then, and she noticed the erotic gleam within them.

"Now, was that a question?" she asked, irritably. It was getting late, and she was tired, but she saw the flash of hurt in Erik´s eyes, and she relented.

"Erik, please let me tell you something. I´ve never thought of marriage before, to anyone. I know it sounds strange, but I never have. I guess I was never close enough to anyone before, and after Papa died I was just going from one day to the next…"

She was silent as she thought for a moment. Life without Erik? She felt sharp pang. Excruciating. She could never dream of loving another man.

Marriage to Erik? Terrifying. Erik was overpowering, and she wanted to remain herself, somehow. Yet there was an element of challenge and excitement to the idea. Here was unexplored territory – here was adventure. And she loved him.

She met Erik´s eyes again. He waited, fear flashing in his gaze.

"Yes," she sighed, and smiled at him tiredly.


	12. Chapter 12

**My deepest gratitude to those who have reviewed. Your feedback is invaluable, and your encouragement is absolutely sublime! Thank you.**

**I´m sorry this update is rather late. Real life had been a witch lately (just in time for Halloween!). So, I kind of choked this chapter out, and I hope it´s okay.**

**So, here goes!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**Carla Forleo awakened the next morning in her dressing room. Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry, but she doubted her memory, so she examined her right leg carefully: two tiny marks, no larger than bee-stings, confirmed that she had not had a nightmare. Last night had happened as she remembered.

_Erik! How could you be in love with that brat?_

The image of Erik holding Christine returned to her, and a bitter taste filled her mouth.

_You and me, Erik! That should have been you and me! After all, didn´t you once kill for me?_

She clearly remembered that night she had fallen in love with Erik DeJongh. Oh, she had pretended passion for him before that evening – he was rich and powerful, after all – but she had never before felt anything akin to love.

She had committed a terrible indiscretion in her hopes to excite some reaction from Erik, who had been icy and indifferent to her. She had slept with Marco, and his wife, whom she had underestimated, had ordered her death. Certain that her desperate plea for help had gone unheeded by Erik, she had expected to die when the Bestia had appeared, gun in hand.

Yet Erik had come.

She would never forget him for as long as she lived. He was a vision from Hell, cloaked in black, his eyes coldly ablaze. His gloved hands wielded the lasso which immobilized the hit man – the Bestia dropped his gun, stunned and confused, clutching at his throat. Even by the light of the full moon, Carla did not see the lasso – it was scarcely visible – but she saw the glint of the knife´s blade. A quick, efficient thrust finished Erik´s work, and he let the body drop, his lips twisted in disgust.

Erik remained, as still as stone, staring at the body before him.

Carla watched Erik´s tall, elegant figure – _oh, the ice and the flame!_ – and smelled the blood in the warm, humid air. A passion and a fire were born within her that night, something dark, sexual, demanding.

"Erik!" she called, and she ran to him.

His eyes, which had been distant and contemplative, focused on her sharply.

"Get away from me!" he said, turning his back to her.

"No! I won´t leave you, Erik. You and me…"

"You serpent!" he rasped, moving away from her. Her heart cringed at the contempt in his eyes.

"It´s through your wickedness that things have come to this. Do not deceive yourself: I do not kill for _you_, and I never would. If I have prevented your death, then it is because you are a woman, and you were attacked."

"Oh, but you _have _killed for me, you _have!_" Carla insisted, breathing rapidly.

Erik turned towards her, then, with such hate in his eyes that she reluctantly left.

The fateful night at the Italian restaurant arrived. Erik had met with her there to inform her of the _resolution of her situation_ – that she was now safe. She was uneasy during the entire evening. An awkward adolescent with the voice of an angel had appeared, but she had dealt summarily with the skinny brat. There had been something about Christine, even then, that she had identified as a potential threat to herself and her ambitions.

Now the potential had become reality, and Christine was Erik´s fiancée.

Carla jumped as her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on her dressing-room door, followed by a key turning in the lock.

The door opened to reveal Brandon, Carla´s current lover. _A magnificent beast! _He was handsome, squarely-built and muscular, with a square jaw and tousled hair. _As strong as a bull, and nearly as intelligent. _Carla´s thoughts flicked involuntarily to Erik and his amazing dark intelligence – yet she forced her mind onto Brandon. He was built, he was willing, and he was available, and she appreciated that.

"Carla!" Brandon whined reproachfully when he saw her reclining on her divan. "Why didn´t you come home last night? Where were you?"

As he spoke, his eyes searched the dressing room, jealously scanning for evidence of another man.

A sudden warmth filled Carla, and she forgot her headache.

"Brandon, darling, I was right here. I fell asleep here, you adorable toy!"

Brandon smiled slowly as Carla assessed him, her eyes taking in his muscular physique with unguarded approval.

He sat down on the edge of the divan and began to stroke Carla´s arm. She smiled up at him seductively.

* * *

In Erik´s study, Christine was just sampling the tea Erik had served her when she began to hear the screaming. It came gradually closer, until she could recognize the voice as Carla´s. The bell rang, and Erik sighed. He did not move. The screaming and ringing continued, however.

"I should have had this room sound-proofed," he commented as he poured for himself.

The screaming grew in anger, if not in volume, and the bell rang more insistently.

"Erik, aren´t you going to open the door?" inquired Christine nervously.

"We both know who it is, my love, and besides, I loathe interruptions. Perhaps I should avail myself of the trapdoor beneath her," he mused.

Carla was now clearly leaning on the doorbell.

"A _trapdoor? _Erik, you can´t…"

"You are right, I fear. If I were to use the trapdoor, I would have to let her out of the oubliette sooner or later. The IRS would come looking for her; it seems she´s being audited."

"_Oubliette?_" gasped Christine.

Erik sighed again, and, throwing down his napkin, glided across the room to answer the door.

The screaming became coherent.

"_You _did this to me!" raged Carla, exploding into the study, her eyes wild and her clothing askew. She pointed an accusing finger towards Erik, who was following her coolly into the room.

"Did…_what…_to you?" asked Erik, his voice conveying saintly patience.

"_That!" _exclaimed Carla, slapping her right gluteus with the palm of her hand and staring at him fixedly.

Christine decided to intervene. There was something about the way Carla addressed Erik, an assumed familiarity, which she did not at all like. The diva´s attention was so focused on him that she had not even noticed Christine´s presence.

"If you´re talking about the arrow and the ´This End Up,´ I can tell you right now that _I _was the one who drew that," said Christine, taking another sip of her tea.

Carla froze, then turned toward Christine slowly. There was a short silence.

"So, _you´re _here," she said, finally. "I didn´t recognize you with your clothes on!"

"You´re talking about last night," said Christine calmly. "You´ll have to forgive us for that, but we _are _engaged to be married."

Instinctively, she knew that commenting on her engagement to Erik was a barb which Carla would feel deeply. She was rewarded when she noticed the diva wince briefly.

Carla turned to Erik, who was beaming at Christine. _That look in his eyes…for _her!

"Erik," she said, her voice suddenly soft and coaxing, "how could you let her do such a thing to me? I was not even conscious!"

"I might as well ask you why you did what you did to _me _several years ago," Christine said. "I was pretty defenseless at the time, and you didn´t mind at all. I´m not defenseless anymore, though."

"No, you are certainly not!" asserted Erik, moving behind Christine´s chair to place his hands on her shoulders. He bent to kiss her cheek.

Carla was fighting tears – to her credit, she did so with some success, and recovered enough to continue the dispute.

"So, Erik, I suppose you couldn´t wait to get into my pants once I was unconscious!"

Christine suppressed a gasp, and Erik walked briskly toward the antique secretary which housed his pharmacopoeia.

"Mr. Khan injected you with an antidote. It counteracted the substance impregnating those darts which hit you," he said coolly, holding aloft a half-empty vial. "I myself refuse to touch you for any reason, of course.

"Behold the power of chemistry!" Erik mused, holding up yet another vial. "If you administer five cc´s of this to any man´s drink, he will respond to you in the manner you deserve…and there´s another pharmaceutical here which will produce the opposite effect. Imagine…"

Both women stared at Erik, surprised at the direction his thoughts were taking him. He seemed to notice, and he closed the secretary and distractedly left both vials on a side-table.

"We only uncovered as much of you as was needed to give you the shot," Christine said to Carla, returning to the original subject, "and that´s when I decided to express myself in permanent ink. You owed me that much."

"How dare you!" hissed Carla, striding across the room in anger as she continued to speak.

"You are _nobody, _Miss Christine Daaé, do you hear me? _Nobody! _Erik will come to his senses…"

"That is quite enough, Miss Forleo," said Erik, and he clutched Carla´s elbow and propelled her rather brusquely towards the door.

She shook Erik off just as they arrived at the door.

"Do you think, little idiot, that Erik had me hypnotized into attempting suicide? Do you? I´ve got news for you: he holds no such power over me. He pressured me into _pretending _to try it, nothing more. My life was never in danger, you know – I just cooperated with him so that he could lure you back here from wherever you had gone.

"And so you think to marry him, do you, little innocent? In case you haven´t noticed, you´re out of your depth. He can manipulate you into anything – he _has _manipulated you! What do you think will become of you once the honeymoon´s over?" she hissed.

Christine was silent; Carla´s words had hit home.

Erik snarled and gave Carla´s elbow a decisive shove, and they disappeared out the door.

Christine sat down; feelings of denial combated feelings of self-accusation within her. _Yes, Erik is manipulative indeed!_ She glanced at the side-table where the two vials had been, and with a feeling of shock, she realized that one of them was missing.

"…_five cc´s of this to any man´s drink, and he will respond to you…"_

_

* * *

_Brandon was still in Carla´s dressing room when she reappeared, trembling with wrath.

"Carla! What´s wrong?" he asked, moving towards her to embrace her.

She was in no mood, however, and sidestepped him.

"I´m finished, darling, I´m finished. I have to leave the Modern now," she seethed, picking up a silver-plated kleenex box and putting it into a bag.

Her eyes swept the dressing room absently.

"I suppose he likes it that that idiot brat is the picture of innocence. I´m willing to bet that the fool´s even a virgin," Carla said, quietly.

She appeared lost in thought, and Brandon watched her quietly, his curiosity piqued.

"I wonder how he would like it if _someone"_ -- here, she turned her stare on Brandon –"seduced his darling Christine before he has a chance to wed her?"

Brandon shifted uncomfortably.

"Carla, what are you trying to tell me?" he asked, scratching his head and frowning. Some things escaped his comprehension.

"Darling, I´m trying to tell you that at the next possible opportunity, you should take Christine Daaé to bed," said Carla in a silken voice.

"Why?" asked Brandon.

Carla sighed and abandoned any thought of explaining the situation to him.

"Because it´ll be fun!" she insisted.

"Oh," said Brandon, looking at Carla, his eyes curious.

He had known that Carla´s inclinations could be peculiar, but this was a new twist. Still, hooking up with Christine Daaé _could _be fun, he had seen the woman, and…

"She _is _a hottie!" Brandon admitted, and smiled at Carla, waiting optimistically for her approval.

Carla´s response was bloodcurdling. People passing by her dressing-room door jumped and hurried their pace, murmuring to each other in alarm.

* * *

Nadir visited Erik´s study late that same evening, newspaper in hand, as was habitual with him. This time, he was also carrying a portfolio.

Erik was at his piano, and Nadir sank into his usual chair gratefully, lit a cigarette, and listened. He was nearly nodding when the recital finished – Liszt, this time -- and he started upon noticing Erik suddenly close beside him.

"Any progress?" asked Erik.

"Mmm, yes," said Nadir, proffering him the portfolio. "That´s everything there was, and the studio is most grateful for your generous donation."

Erik sifted through the charcoal and pencil studies of Christine, his eyes narrowing in disappointment.

"Not a one of them does her justice," he lamented. Nadir chuckled.

"Wait…Nadir, what´s this?" Erik asked, coming to a charcoal study at the bottom of the pile.

"Hmmm? Oh, _that…" _Nadir said, galvanized by embarrassment. He tried to snatch the page from Erik, but Erik pulled it away from him and continued to contemplate it.

"Look, Erik, this is all _your _fault, you know!" complained Nadir bitterly. "Christine promised Rose that she would model for her this evening, and I had to arrange for a substitute!"

"That did not require your having to model for her _yourself,_ you libertine!" growled Erik in disgust. "I see you left even less to the imagination than Christine did!"

"But I have a delightful smile! Look, Erik, if you can´t find it within yourself to be grateful, at least be reasonable. You know how I love women…"

"There seems to be something at the bottom right-hand corner, next to the signature. It appears to be…"

"…a phone number, yes. Well, do you expect me to resist such a lovely bohemian? Rose is a marvelous creature!"

"It would appear that that appraisal is mutual," murmured Erik, the barest hint of a smile playing about his lips.

Nadir decided upon a change of subject.

"And how goes the engagement?" he asked, beaming.

He had expected a jubilant response. After all, Erik had been beside himself with joy last night, the _entire night_, so Nadir was surprised to see his friend frown slightly.

"She has doubts," Erik said.

"Doubts?"

"Doubts. She will not tell me of them, but I can feel them. She cannot refuse me now, Nadir, it´s too late! She promised!"

Nadir was worried about the direction the conversation was taking, but he merely nodded, observing Erik closely.

"She loves you," he murmured, hoping to soothe Erik into reason and coherence.

"Yes! It was too late for her once she admitted _that_, actually – you´re right, Nadir! Whatever would I do without you to help me reason?"

This was too much. Nadir girded himself for battle.

"Erik, perhaps you should not treat Christine as someone you´ve successfully taken prisoner. She has a mind of her own, you know, and I think that she´s been trying very hard to make that clear."

"Of course she does! I adore her mind, even when it incites her to rebellion…!"

"Erik, may I point out that one _rebels _against authority, and you have no authority over Christine…?"

"Of course I do! I´m her fiancé, and she has entrusted herself to my care!"

"I´m not entirely certain she would agree with that point of view," countered Nadir.

"Well, if she doesn´t, then I must see that her point of view is corrected – gently, of course," he said, adding the last part, it seemed, to appease his friend.

Nadir stared at him in stunned silence. Erik apparently took his silence as assent, and strode to his desk with a satisfied air.

Recovering slightly, Nadir went to the opposite side of the room and emptied Erik´s decanter.

"Really, Nadir," murmured Erik, looking up from his desk in disapproval. "I don´t know what I might have to do with you if you continue to drink like that!"

* * *

_Cold feet – isn´__t that what they call this?_

Christine thought about her feelings as she sewed a button onto an old miniskirt she would be wearing tomorrow. Another declaration of independence. _We´ll see how he reacts to this!_

Almost as soon as she had given Erik her consent, she had felt waves of cold approaching from a distance. Marriage? To Erik? Her consent had ushered this dream into the realm of reality.

She had told Erik nothing of these feelings, but Carla´s scathing words had brought the distant cold much closer to her heart. The icy waves were now crashing about her heart, and sometimes she even trembled under their power.

Erik had been beside her the entire day, even during rehearsals. Lunch had been taken with him, and his conversation had been lively, entertaining, engaging – a sample of what awaited her once she married him. She knew that this was what he wished to convey.

Yet there were other things. Carla was right – Erik was manipulative, extremely so, and perhaps, just perhaps, she was no match for him. _Too easy to become lost. _He wanted to control her, and she did not want to give him control over her.

Could she break the engagement? She remembered the reluctance with which Erik had permitted her to return home, and she remembered the look in his eyes. _Probably not._

_So – Erik wants a short engagement. Well, I want a long one – a very long engagement!_

She finished with the button and cut the thread. Tomorrow was another day – another opportunity for her to assert herself.

_No surrender!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Greetings, All, and my deepest gratitude to all who have so kindly reviewed! You rock!**

**Another long update. Hope you like!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

Christine went down to prepare breakfast the next morning in her black miniskirt and black nylons. A form-fitting sweater and high heels completed her look. She was not very fond of high heels as a general rule, but today was exceptional. She wanted to seem taller when she faced Erik.

She tied on an apron and started to rummage through the refrigerator. She had decided to leave some hashed browns and bacon in the oven for Auntie Val. She felt guilty for having neglected her lately, and although she worried over her guardian´s cholesterol count, she wanted to give her a treat. _Two rashers won´t hurt…_

"Christine?"

She turned, surprised by Raoul´s voice. She tensed as he entered the kitchen, remembering the last time they had been alone there.

"Oh, hi, Raoul," she said, trying her best to dispel her nervousness. "We´ve _got _to stop meeting like this!"

She smiled, spatula aloft and an eye on the hashed browns.

Raoul was in no mood for levity, though.

"I´m glad I caught you before you left. I´ve got something I need to tell you, Christine."

"Oh?" she said, her muscles tightening with nervous tension.

"I was out with Meg last night, and to make a long story short, she got mad at me," he began.

"What did you do?"

"Why do you think that _I _did anything? She just freaked out for some reason. Then she started telling me all this stuff…"

"Stuff?"

"Stuff about you, and me, and DeJongh," he clarified.

Christine took the pan off of the stove and sat down, her legs suddenly heavy.

"Let´s hear it," she said quietly. She folded her hands nervously on her lap, waiting.

Raoul ran a hand through his hair, and Christine noted with detachment that he looked nervous, too.

"DeJongh kind of set you up. Meg says he sent her to you and told her to be your friend. All the time she´s been with you, she´s been reporting everything you said or did to DeJongh."

Christine felt an odd sensation, as though the wind had been knocked out of her. The girl time together, the outings, the long, intimate chats…_it can´t be!_

"Her mother. She always confided in her mother, and _she _was telling Erik…"

Raoul shook his head sadly, his eyes commiserating.

"No, Christine. Her mom probably was helping her out, but Meg was a spy from day one. And get this: she was supposed to keep me away from you. DeJongh obviously worried that there might be something between us, sooner or later. In fact, Meg said something about your maybe having feelings for me…"

"How did she put it?" asked Christine. She felt slightly sick now.

"She said, 'I can´t see _what _Christine ever saw in you,'" Raoul said slowly, watching Christine.

"Uh-huh…" she said, swallowing. "Why was she so mad at you? How did all this come out?"

"Well," said Raoul, running a hand over his face, "I guess it was something about money. I left my wallet at Jeff´s, so Meg had to pay for the movie. Then she paid for the restaurant, and I guess that bothered her. We were having a great time until suddenly she just blew up! We´d both had a few drinks, you know. She said something about her credit cards, and then she said, 'He can´t _pay _me enough to put up with you! Being friends with Christine is one thing, but _you _are a –´ well, I won´t repeat what she called me. Then we argued some more, and everything else came out.

"'I have to talk non-stop about Christine, and then he wants to know about _you,_' she tells me. 'And all the other stuff – the photo album, the key…'

"What do you suppose she meant by _that_?" finished Raoul, his exasperation clear.

Christine´s mind flew to the photograph she had seen in Erik´s master bedroom.

A key? She realized now that Meg had somehow managed to have her house key copied.

"Raoul," she said, "We´re going to have to change your aunt´s locks. I´m sorry."

Her thoughts flew as she sat, her head in her hands. Meg had said a few choice negative things about Raoul – were they true, or just manipulations designed to keep her away from him? What if Raoul had been nothing but a faithful friend to her and a good nephew to his aunt the entire time?

"Hey, is that bacon?" Raoul said suddenly, brightening. He went to the counter and quickly downed the two rashers of bacon which had been waiting for his aunt.

"Oh…" said Christine, looking up. "I guess I´ll just make more of those…"

"Great! I´ll have three more. Wait…were those for someone?" he asked, looking around the room.

Christine sighed and heated the pan.

She arrived late for her morning tea with Erik. Their lessons had been suspended in favour of a quiet hour together before the start of a busy day in rehearsals.

"You are late," Erik observed irritably.

He then stopped to stare at Christine, his eyes travelling slowly up the length of her body. The pen he had been holding in his fingers as he paced dropped to the floor.

"You are also much too scantily clad," he added, his jaw set.

Christine could feel his anger rising, and she spoke quickly, hoping to thwart it. In her confusion over Meg, she had forgotten the message of independence which she was hoping to convey through her attire.

"I´m sorry I´m late. I´m feeling just a bit glum this morning, Erik. It seems that my friendship with Meg is a lie which you arranged for me some months ago…?"

Erik´s eyes, as usual, were fixed on hers, but he did not even blink.

"She is your friend," he said simply.

"No, she is _not_," Christine argued. "_You _arranged for her to befriend me. She probably doesn´t even _like _me! It´s more than likely she thinks I´m a fool."

"It so happens that she does indeed like you. What is friendship, Christine? How does it happen? Is it as pure and harmonious an ideal as you envision it to be?"

"She´s been working for _you_! She never told me!" Christine insisted.

Erik motioned to her to sit down and poured her a cup of tea.

"Please only _think, _my love," he said as he poured. "Miss Giry knew that I only had your best interests at heart. Her status as my agent was in no way in conflict with her friendship with you, which has been as true a friendship as ever existed."

"And the locks on Auntie Val´s house are being changed. Shall I send you the bill?" Christine asked sharply.

"Please do so. Remember this, however, my love: No lock will keep _me _out."

Christine shuddered at the dark look in his eyes as he said this, but she was determined to rise to this occasion.

"You have no right to threaten me so, and you know it. I am not chattel – I am a _person_…"

"A _woman,_" Erik said softly, leaning towards her.

"I´m a _person _first! We´re not just men and women with labels tied to us just because of differing bits of anatomy…"

"Speaking of which, quite a bit of _yours _is on open display this morning. That can be corrected," he said, rising.

Christine stood up, too, and faced him.

"No! I´m wearing this today. I want to, and I have the right to. And another thing! The wedding date you want to set…? How´s an engagement of about a year sound?"

Erik actually went white, and Christine resisted the urge to flee. She faced him, trying not to tremble.

"You abuse both my patience and my self-restraint," he said, his voice soft yet steely. "I wish to protect you from the prurient eyes of other men. This, _anyone _can understand. I will tell you more, however. You are not safe from _me._"

This was sufficient to break Christine´s display of nerve. She took several steps back, her heels sinking into the plush wool of the Oriental rug. Erik followed her, and, towering over her, continued, a hand caressing the nape of her neck.

"I should think you would prefer a short – perhaps extremely short – engagement to what might happen if you force me to wait for you much longer."

Long fingers lazily stroked her neck, and he moved to close the space between them.

"Well, if sex is really what you want," said Christine, "_that _can be arranged!"

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. He froze in shock, but his eyes were eloquent – she was in grave danger now.

She jerked herself free, the suddenness of the motion surprising him, and ran to the other side of his desk, which was perhaps the most solid object in the room. Yet she knew she was cornered.

"I could show you now, Christine," he murmured hoarsely. "I could show you _exactly_ what the difference is. _Sex?_ Oh, that does not nearly describe what I want from _you, _my love!"

"I don´t think…" Christine began, marshalling her thoughts. In doing so, she glanced down at the desk, and then gaped at what she saw there, her eyes wide with shock. A charcoal sketch of Nadir Khan smiled lazily up at her, his dark eyes peaceful and content in spite of the vulnerability his nude state conveyed. He seemed the perfect advertisement for a nudist resort, in fact.

Christine jumped back as if bitten. She felt as though she had surprised someone in the shower.

"I´m sorry!" she said involuntarily.

Erik´s smouldering frustration seemed to evaporate into confusion, and he approached the desk quickly and, hissing, turned the offending drawing over.

Christine took advantage of the moment given her and, plucking off her heels, ran to the door.

"Time for rehearsals, Erik!" she piped cheerfully as she made good her escape.

Nadir Khan nearly collided with Christine as she hurried towards the rehearsal room. For some reason, she blushed as she greeted him, but he found it enchanting.

_She looks lovely today, _he thought to himself. _I wonder if she´s managed to charm Erik into a good mood? _

"Nadir! Just the man I wanted to see!" snarled Erik, grasping him by one of his lapels.

He thrust the charcoal drawing in Nadir´s face.

"You will take this abomination and make certain that it never, _ever, _finds its way into my study again!" he hissed.

"You´ve smudged it!" complained Nadir, examining it quickly. "What will Rose say?"

Erik showed alarming signs of an explosion, but suddenly Christine´s voice could be heard floating down the hallway as she warmed up.

Erik left Nadir without another word.

Erik´s presence during rehearsals was an unwelcome novelty for the performers at first, but their fear of him gradually waned, while their respect for his professional prowess increased. Through the murmurs and whispers Christine overheard, she gathered that Erik´s behaviour was not nearly as unpleasant now as it had been some months before, and that she herself was being given credit for this welcome change in his demeanor.

Another topic of conversation was Carla´s sudden departure from the Modern. Her usual klatch of friends seemed confused and miserable during breaks, but a few of them were now going out of their way to be friendly to Christine.

Christine could not help but wonder about Carla and about the vial which had disappeared from Erik´s side-table, and she brought the subject up while they lunched quietly together.

"Of course I noticed that the vial was missing," Erik told her. "I intended for her to steal at least one of them, and I only had to wonder whether she would take one or both of them."

"Why did you arrange that? Now Carla´s sure to put it in some poor soul´s drink!"

Erik poured more water into Christine´s glass, and he did not immediately respond.

"You need to drink plenty of liquids – there, now, I want you to empty the glass…"

"I´m not a child, Erik!" she protested.

"No, you´re certainly not," he agreed, "But I will take care of you."

"What about Carla?"

"Now, why should I wish to care for _her_? Really…"

"Erik, please! You know what I mean!"

"Very well. Christine, you need not worry. The vial she took will simply _inconvenience_ her intended victim for a few hours. Its effects are not permanent, and since she will wish to administer it to a man, there is very little danger of her taking advantage of her victim´s weakened state.

"Also, remember what I said when I described the pharmaceutical contained in the vial. She will receive the response which she _deserves_ from any man…"

"You mean he´ll kill her?" worried Christine.

"Oh, no, I don´t think it will come to that, although that would be quite welcome, wouldn´t it?"

"Then _what_?" asked Christine impatiently.

Yet Erik merely smiled at her.

Rehearsals ended for the day, and Erik finally said what Christine feared he might.

"Stay with me tonight," he said, folding her into a resolute embrace.

Christine felt a warmth within her. Oh, she longed for this – but she feared it even more.

"Not…not yet," she whispered, and she looked into his eyes, frightened of his response.

His gentleness surprised her.

"Very well," he said, and he merely stroked her hair, though she noted that he was stiff with tension.

"Christine," he said, as she began to move away to leave him for the night. "I am _asking_ you now. Please dress more modestly. Do this as a favour to Erik, who loves you."

He had never done more than suggest that he loved her before, and although she _knew_, this admission took Christine by surprise. His humility disarmed her, and she could do nothing more than nod. Perhaps the possibility of a truce existed, after all.

"Good night, Erik. I love you."

On the way home, Christine checked her cell phone, eliminating all the messages she had received from Meg. She had avoided her the entire day, and she had refused to answer any of her calls. She hoped that Meg would realize that their friendship, such as it was, was now at an end.

Christine had underestimated Meg, though. As soon as she had hung up her coat, Meg arrived at her doorstep, and Auntie Val, oblivious to this latest drama, invited her inside.

"Please, Christine!" she called, as Christine turned her back on her and started to leave the room.

"I´ll just…mind the beans," murmured Auntie Val, shocked by the situation between the two women. She left them to their privacy.

"What can you have to say to me?" asked Christine. "I thought we were friends. I thought I knew you. Now I wonder if I know anybody!"

"Christine, we _are _friends, no matter what Raoul has told you. Yeah, I only started to talk to you because Mr. DeJongh wanted me to. Please understand, it was for the good of everyone! You don´t know how Mr. DeJongh can get, because he´s different with you! Everyone has to do whatever he says, or things get really bad!"

"Well, you´re off the hook now, Meg. You don´t have to worry anymore about Erik or what he wants from you -- you´ve been discovered now, and he knows it. As for what I think of you, it´s okay – I understand! You needed to do this. It wasn´t your fault. You can leave me now and start being yourself again, whoever that is!"

Meg winced at this, and Christine noted with unwilling concern that she had dark circles under her eyes.

"Christine, that´s not everything – that´s not the way things are! Look, if it weren´t for Erik, we´d never have been friends. You´re kind of quiet, and you don´t give off the impression that you´re much fun…"

"Thank you!" interrupted Christine dryly.

"Sorry, but I´m telling you the truth now. In fact, I´ve always told you the truth, even if it wasn´t open about everything.

"Look, Christine, I found out quickly that I really like you. You surprised me. I´ve never had a friend listen to me the way you do, or really care how I feel or what I think. You´d be surprised. Most of the people I know are lots of fun but not very caring…"

"And what do I have to do to be 'lots of fun'?" asked Christine with some bitterness.

"You _are _loads of fun, but it´s different with you. We don´t have to go out and party to have fun, you and I. The best times are when we just sit and talk!

"Look, Christine, please give me another chance! I´d do anything…"

"Anything?" Christine managed a weak smile.

"Anything!" repeated Meg emphatically, and she waited.

Christine paused, thinking carefully.

"Well, I might just call you on that 'anything,' you know," she finally said.

Meg exhaled and opened her arms tentatively. Christine turned towards her and joined her in a long, tearful hug.

At the back of her mind, doubts remained.


	14. Chapter 14

**My eternal thanks**** to all who have given me such kind feedback and reviews. **

**Also, m****y very best wishes to all those who are besieged by exams now. May Saint Joseph of Cupertino, the patron saint of students who blank out on exams, be always at your side! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

  
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Nadir focused absently on the four cigarette stubs in the ashtray. He was on his fifth cigarette now, and Erik continued to pace.

"How much longer, Nadir?" he asked, seemingly for the hundredth time.

"Not much longer, I´m certain," replied Nadir. "She insisted upon a year-long engagement, isn´t it so? Well, now she´s agreed to only eight months…"

"_Only _eight months? _Only?_" Erik complained, and Nadir´s eyes were drawn to the bracelet his friend clutched in his hands.

Erik ran his long fingers nervously down the silver charms on Christine´s bracelet as if they were rosary beads. He had fallen into the habit of collecting trophies – a scarf bearing Christine´s perfume, a handkerchief, etc. – and his latest acquisition was a silver charm bracelet.

"Isn´t Christine going to miss that?" asked Nadir, pointing to the bracelet. "She may think she simply lost that scarf the other day, but the bracelet is probably dear to her…"

"I cannot have _her,_ so I borrow what´s hers," Erik explained in irritated tones. "I shall return this to her in the morning, with an addition," he said.

He produced a carefully wrapped piece from his vest pocket, which he handed to Nadir. A magnifying glass revealed how very well-wrought this silver charm was: it represented an owl in flight, talons outstretched. _Wisdom, intelligence...and stealth. Minerva on the hunt._

"Isn´t the raptor owl a personal emblem of yours?" asked Nadir, a memory tugging at him.

Erik nodded and, recovering the charm, proceeded to add it to Christine´s bracelet.

"It looks rather striking next to that puppy charm," commented Nadir, smiling. The owl contrasted sharply with the older charms on the bracelet, which all appeared to be tokens of an innocent girlhood.

Erik stared at the bracelet, his eyes distant, and Nadir yawned, looking at his watch. Perhaps Erik would finally consent to sleep for a few hours. He seemed to have calmed.

"Tomorrow is the première, old boy; perhaps a bit of rest would do you some good now," ventured Nadir.

"Tomorrow the world will discover Christine," Erik mused, almost sadly, still looking at her bracelet.

"She´s a good girl," said Nadir. "You know that fame won´t turn her head."

"I don´t know if I shouldn´t have kept her to myself," murmured Erik.

"Of course not! She has a voice which is truly _nonpareil,"_ insisted Nadir. "This is your gift to a world hungry for beauty."

He hesitated, then continued.

"Yesterday, I heard the two of you…in duet. I have never…"

"That is something for ourselves, which _no one else_ will ever hear. Really, Nadir, you have a talent for intruding on intimate moments!"

"It was beyond exquisite, beyond…"

"You will forget it!" snapped Erik, his eyes flashing. "If you had happened upon a couple in bed you could not have intruded on something more intimate. I will thank you never to mention it again, and we will be more discreet in future."

Erik started to pace again, and Nadir silently abandoned all hopes that he might sleep. Stubbing out his cigarette, he sat back and watched his friend, whose movements were graceful in spite of his state of frustration.

"I need her here with me, _now_, but she fears me, so I must control myself. I cannot manipulate her mind, for I could not bear to entice her thus, yet I am tired of such restraint! Every evening she leaves me, and I would have her here, where she belongs…"

He was beginning his usual rantings, but Nadir sighed and rose to the occasion.

"Everything has been too rapid for the poor girl, Erik. She loves you, and she is an excellent match for you…"

"'An excellent match'?" hissed Erik. "She is the only one, she alone, who could answer my hunger! Therefore, she should act with responsibility, yet she chooses to torment me!"

"Well, now, Erik, whyever would an attitude like that frighten her, I wonder?" asked Nadir, throwing up his hands. "Look, she´s very young, rather inexperienced, and she probably wonders about the road not taken!"

"Well, she won´t travel it – there are plenty of roads leading to destruction, and she will abandon them all in favor of what I have planned for her. She must know I only want what´s best for her!"

"Now, Erik, it´s completely normal for a girl like her to have doubts. She is not obsessed, she doesn´t share your intensity…"

"Oh, but she does, Nadir!" said Erik, brightening. "The depth is there, but she keeps it locked away. She´s afraid to let me know her completely. It´s fear…"

"Well, if it´s fear that is frustrating your progress with her, then you´ll have to devise some way to make your intentions less frightening," said Nadir.

"There is nothing at all frightening about my intentions," responded Erik.

"No, nothing at all frightening about the thought of spending the rest of her life with _you_," said Nadir, as he watched Erik hurl a frustrated fireball into the hearth. A smell of burnt sulfur pervaded the air following that feat of legerdemain, and Nadir coughed.

"Imagine…only an eight-month reprieve, and she´ll be sentenced to things like _that_," Nadir croaked.

"Eight months!" Erik roared, as he continued to pace. "EIGHT MONTHS!"

Nadir sighed and lit another cigarette, girding himself mentally for the long night ahead.

* * *

Christine checked the garlic toast in the oven, while Meg set the table for three. Spaghetti with meat sauce sat atop very low heat on the range. _Student fare, _reflected Christine wryly, _from the professional bohemian._

Every evening, Meg would accompany her home. She did not mind helping Christine with dinner or other household duties, and she offered lively conversation as well. She was truly doing her best to recapture Christine´s trust and friendship, and she had only been absent during the weekend and on the following Monday evening, when Erik had essentially thrown her out.

Christine had been aware that Erik was controlling himself – that fact made his level of intensity all the more frightening. He permitted himself a good-night kiss every evening, nothing more, before he sent Christine home. He went out of his way to avoid any situation which might make Christine uncomfortable, but his frustrated air as he did so only succeeded in making her nervous.

Every day he insisted on an intimate hour together over tea. In spite of the tension which always existed between them, Christine looked forward to their chats. She was certain that he had learned everything there was to know about herself – those conversational bones should have been picked clean long ago, but he was always surprising her with new questions.

"Your father taught you to play the violin," Erik remarked once.

"Well, not really," replied Christine, taken off guard.

He waited expectantly, his eyes on hers, a tactic which never failed to draw her out.

"I…studied for seven or eight years, got as far as the Beethoven Sonatas, then kind of quit," she admitted. "_You _play the violin, Erik, not me. I could never…When and how did you learn?"

The question was bold. Erik avoided speaking of himself and his childhood wherever possible, and it frustrated Christine.

"One could say I taught myself," Erik replied shortly.

"Your mother must have been proud of you for that," Christine ventured thoughtlessly, then instantly regretted her remark. _Idiot!_

Erik´s eyes moved to regard the wall darkly, distantly, and something terrible flickered within them for an instant.

"No," he said coldly.

It was always thus. Christine rarely ventured into the conversational minefield which was Erik´s childhood or youth, because it awakened a frightening amount of pain and hatred. Yet she had discovered something which comforted her greatly: she could always soothe Erik. It was slightly ridiculous, almost childish, how a simple word or caress could placate him; yet he was always hungry for more.

"I´m sorry," she murmured, and dared to lean forward and stroke his hands.

His eyes moved to hers, his sudden darkness evaporated, and he clasped her hands within his tightly.

He was her constant shadow throughout her day at the Modern now, and Meg did not dare approach her there anymore. Thus, their evenings together at Auntie Val´s began.

On Monday, however, Erik held Christine in his arms, kissed her deeply, and could not bear to let her leave. Whether it was because of tiredness, or some type of urgent need, his self-discipline failed him that evening and he accompanied her to Auntie Val´s porch. Once there, he succeeded in securing an invitation to dinner just as Meg arrived.

"I didn´t see you leave the Modern," began Meg, but she stopped abruptly when she saw Erik.

There was an awkward silence during which Erik moved toward Christine and put his arm around her waist, glaring at Meg all the while.

Meg had left without more than a quick and frightened farewell.

Yet she was here now, and Christine smiled at her gratefully as she served the plates.

"So, tomorrow´s the big night," remarked Meg cheerfully. "You ready to be Mimì?"

"I sure hope so," said Christine. "He´s certainly prepared me, and rehearsals have gone really well. All the other performers have been really supportive, too. And Jeremy is such a great Rodolfo!"

"How are things with…?"

"You´ve seen how we are, Meg. He doesn´t leave me for a minute. I hardly have time to _think _about what I´m in for."

Christine diplomatically left out the fact that she now doubted her own judgment. If she had been wrong to place her trust in Meg and Raoul once, what if her instincts regarding Erik were wrong? What if his obsession with her burned brightly, then burned out completely? The possibility had tainted her encounters with Erik with fear, and he had noticed it.

Was it safe to love him? _Too late! I already do! I need time away, just to think. _An idea was quickly forming in her mind.

"_Bohème _is going to run for three weeks, and we´ll have Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays off," said Christine.

"Yeah," said Meg slowly. "Are you thinking of going out or something? Would he let you?"

"He´ll have to," Christine said, irritated by Meg´s last question. "I was thinking, Meg. How would it be if we were to take a three-day road trip, you and I?"

Meg froze.

"What about _him_?"

"What _about _him? You aren´t working for him anymore, are you?" asked Christine sharply. "You´re my friend, aren´t you? Look, in eight months I´m going to marry Erik, and it scares me. I need time to think, time away. Do you want to come with me, or do I go alone?"

"How far were you thinking of going?"

"You won´t tell Erik, will you?"

"Christine! Please!"

"I was thinking as far as Breyerton – it´s just in the mountains and it´s gorgeous. The perfect spot for a good think."

Meg was silent for a moment.

"I´ll check my oil and transmission fluid, then," she said, smiling in resignation.

Christine gave her a hug, and the two took dinner out to the dining room, where Auntie Val waited for them.

* * *

"I don´t think you´re taking this seriously at all!" snapped Carla as Brandon shuffled around in her refrigerator, looking for another beer. The sounds of the wrestling match on the television in the next room produced a dull background roar.

"Taking _what _seriously?" muttered Brandon.

He was beginning to tire of Carla. Ever since DeJongh had banned her from the Modern, she had been a whining shrew. Even the ever-patient Nadir Khan had grown tired of her incessant phone calls and had blocked her number.

Carla scowled.

"You have done nothing about Miss Christine Daaé. Not so much as a 'hello'! How are you going to get her into the sack at this rate?"

"Carla, you know I can´t go near the Modern now that you´re out, and DeJongh has her watched everywhere she goes. Besides, she never goes out – she just goes home!" Brandon said in plaintive tones.

Carla glared at him, her lips set in a pout.

"Have you tried ringing the bell?"

"Carla, I can´t romance the woman under that old lady´s nose, and someone would call DeJongh if I tried it, anyway."

Brandon opened a bottle of beer and started to search the pantry for crackers.

"You know what you need to do," said Carla, watching the play of muscles across his shirtless back appreciatively.

"What?" asked Brandon.

"Stake her out."

"_What_? Are you kidding?"

"Stake the house out. She has to go out _sometime. _She can´t always be stuck between the Modern and her house, especially after opening night."

"Well, Carla, I just happen to have a plan to get that girl with me after the opera ends tomorrow night, so you can rest easy."

"What plan is that?" asked Carla dubiously.

"Never you mind," said Brandon smugly.

Carla simply gaped at him, amazed at his oversized self-confidence. She recovered herself, however, and persisted.

"Whatever you do, Brandon, darling, don´t forget to use the vial."

"Oh, yes," said Brandon, rolling his eyes. "The famous potion! Yeah, sure, I´ll give it to her. But, sweetheart," he said, "you don´t really think _I_ need a potion to hook up with a lady, do you?"

He smiled and flexed his biceps, a habit of his which never failed to charm Carla.

Carla grinned at him devilishly, in rapt approval, but nonetheless insisted.

"Just do it, darling. Just in case…"

* * *

Christine and her fellow performers received eight curtain calls and a standing ovation after _Bohème_´s first performance. Whatever doubts the audience had regarding Christine had been completely dispelled. She had lived Mimì passionately, poignantly, and with her entire soul. Throughout her entire performance, she had felt Erik´s presence, and she had excelled for _him_, regardless of the full house which watched her every move that evening.

As she took her bows, exhausted, she noticed that some audience members were throwing flowers – one even threw an envelope at her feet, just as she moved forward to accept a large bouquet of roses.

The curtain finally fell for the last time, and there was a roar and a bustle – heat, laughter, sweat, mutual congratulations swirled and eddied all around her. Christine ignored the cacophony and collected the envelope, which had her name on it, and opened it. Within, there was a hotel key: The Regent, the most elegant hotel in the city.

She read the note:

YOUR GREAT!

YOU AND ME.

THE REGENT, ROOM 211.

CHAMPAIN AND CAVIAR.

11 PM.

YOUR ADMIRER.

P.S. im way richer than that dejong dude.

A tired giggle escaped her, and looking up, she saw Erik standing before her, his eyes filled with pride.


	15. Chapter 15

**Fondest greetings to all, and thank you so much for the marvelous feedback! It means so very much to me! **

**Things are moving a bit more slowly than I anticipated in this chapter, so Meg and Christine will be hitting the highway in the next chapter. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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"Christine," Erik murmured, his voice caressing her name. Outright praise was impossible to extract from him, Christine had found during her lessons. Yet this occasion was different: words failed him, and they both knew it. The beauty of what remained unspoken hung in the air between them, danced in his eyes, and luxuriated in his smile. The lights reflected colors off the surface of his mask.

The other artists still milled about, though the noise was beginning to die down. They shot hopeful glances in Erik´s direction. They had performed well; perhaps he would say something. Erik disappointed them, however, for he was absorbed in his scrutiny of Christine. Finally, the performers straggled off the stage and out of the wings. They had the public and friends to meet, parties to attend, and families to go home to.

Erik offered Christine some water, then held her, enraptured, for a long time. Her head was beginning to swim. She seemed to feel more exhausted by the minute, and Erik´s arms were warm and welcoming. She let the letter and the key fall from her grasp. Erik retrieved both instantly, his reflexes catlike.

Erik submitted the note and key to a quick examination.

"I see," he said, irritation in his voice.

"Hmm?" managed Christine. She wished she could collapse onto the floor and simply sleep. Erik was supporting most of her weight now; one arm supported her, while the other held the offending note. Something Christine had missed slipped out of the envelope and fell to the floor. Christine squinted at it, but Erik placed his foot firmly on top of it before she could see it.

"Wha' was that?" she mumbled.

"Your…_admirer_…included a photograph of himself in nothing more modest than swimwear," observed Erik. "Nothing _you _need to see."

"Okay," said Christine, her head on Erik´s shoulder.

Dropping the note, he gathered her into his arms. She was vaguely aware of the trip through the corridors to his home; the rocking lulled her, and Erik´s murmurings soothed her. She awakened in the middle of the night and found herself, still in costume, under a blanket. She stripped sleepily down to her underclothes and climbed under the covers of the bed, too exhausted for thought or observation.

* * *

At his room at the Regent, Brandon checked the clock impatiently: it was midnight now, and there was no sign of Christine. He was lounging about in his sexiest black briefs, covered only by a silk bathrobe. Both articles of clothing had been gifts from Carla, and Brandon had to admit that she had good taste. He admired himself in a full-length mirror – _Great pecs! Great ass! To die for!_

What was keeping that girl? He had sent a photo of himself, after all, and he was sure his note would pique her interest. He picked up the television remote and changed channels distractedly – _Damn, where´s the Playboy Channel?_

There was a knock at the door, and Brandon brightened. As he passed the mirror on his way to open the door, he checked himself – _awesome!_

He failed to hide his disappointment when the person calling at his door turned out to be a man in a dark suit – obviously a hotel employee.

"Yeah?" he snapped.

"Gift from a lady," said the man simply, ignoring Brandon´s rudeness completely and proffering a large package.

"Oh…yeah! Thanks!" said Brandon, accepting the box eagerly.

The man did not seem to expect a tip. Instead, he left wordlessly and with a hurried step.

Brandon set the package on the table and examined it. It had been wrapped in red paper and tied with a black satin ribbon. There was no note, but as Brandon began to unwrap the box, he was certain of one thing: _I really impressed that girl!_

He imagined Christine – delayed, perhaps, because she wanted to prepare herself and look her best for him. What would she be wearing? Would she be direct, and hardly wear anything at all?

Brandon smiled as his imagination took flight, and he finally succeeded in opening the box. He pulled out something heavy and metallic and stared at it, scratching his head. It looked like a canister, and as he looked more closely, he noticed something attached to it which looked like a dial -- a timer, perhaps?

There was a sudden click and a hiss, and Brandon jumped. A terrible stench filled the room – it was unbearable, far worse than rotten eggs, yet heavily sulfurous.

Brandon fled the room, his eyes watering, but the odor followed him out the door – the canister had enormous capacity, it seemed. People started to emerge from their rooms and mill about the hallway, exclaiming at the offensive smell.

_I can´t stay here now! _Brandon retreated to his room, his hand over his nose. The stench was terrible indeed so close to the canister, which was still hissing feebly. The window caught his eye. Perhaps it could be opened – but, no, his frantic efforts to do so failed. His eyes swimming with tears, he crossed the room, opened the door, and came face-to-face with the hotel manager, whose fist was poised in mid-knock.

* * *

Erik´s study was quiet and the lights had been dimmed when Nadir entered. There was no sign of Erik.

Well, he would wait. He settled comfortably into his chair and lit a cigarette. Erik was certain to be pleased, Nadir thought happily. He had never seen a better production of _Bohème, _and he had made it a point to congratulate the cast members before they left the building. Many were busy signing autographs and basking in the very public glow that always surrounded a successful show.

There had been a great many people searching for Christine, of course – her Mimì had been phenomenal – but Jeremy Groce, who played Rodolfo, had informed him that she had last been seen backstage in Erik´s company. It was a shame she had not emerged to sign autographs and answer questions. Nadir had invented excuses to several reporters, and he was not happy about it. Christine should have come out to meet reporters and fans, to boost her rapport with them, to boost her career, to boost the Modern. Her absence was bad for everybody.

Nadir jumped, startled from his musings. Erik had entered the study as soundlessly as a shadow and stood looking at him, his yellow eyes bright in the darkened room.

"Ah, there you are, Erik – are you back from taking your young lady home, then?"

"No; I had an errand to run," Erik replied, seating himself at the piano and thumbing through some sheet music, his pen at the ready.

"Oh – well, have you seen Christine? She was not out front greeting the public with Jeremy and the rest of the cast…"

"Why should _she _do that? I will not have strangers pawing her," said Erik almost mildly, his gentle demeanor attesting to his good mood.

Nadir´s surprise silenced him. He was unaccustomed to seeing Erik in such a tranquil state. No pacing, no fireballs, no shouting or throwing heavy objects tonight. Only when Christine was near had he seen Erik so content. A sudden suspicion nagged at Nadir.

"I´m surprised you did not escort Christine home yourself after such a delightful performance," he ventured.

Erik remained silent, his pen busily filling out staff paper.

"I would hate to see her accosted on her way home, and there´s only so much her driver could do," persisted Nadir.

Silence. Erik continued immersed in his work.

"Perhaps I should telephone her guardian to make certain that all is well."

Nadir had finally achieved the desired effect. Erik´s pen froze in mid-notation, and he turned to look at Nadir.

"You will do no such thing. I have sent a note to her guardian already," Erik said curtly.

"A note? Very formal, old man. Might I ask…?"

"_Yes, _Nadir, she is finally here, where she belongs. She is asleep at the moment," Erik said. His voice contained only the merest hint of aggravation. Nothing, it seemed, could dampen his mood, not even Nadir´s meddling.

"Asleep? Well, I´ve no doubt she was fatigued after her performance. You didn´t, by any chance, administer something to tip her into a state of _complete _exhaustion, did you?"

Under normal circumstances, this question would have excited and angry reaction, but Erik merely shrugged.

"She was exhausted to start with," he said, and played several experimental bars of something rhapsodic on the piano.

"And so she stays here tonight," persisted Nadir, raising a disapproving brow.

"She is safe here, and she is well cared-for. Tomorrow evening and Sunday there will be performances, but there will be three days thereafter which we can spend together, at complete leisure," mused Erik aloud. He smiled slightly and picked out a melody line with his right hand, then noted something down.

Nadir found it impossible to argue with such exuberance. He stubbed out his cigarette, rose, and stretched.

"Well, goodnight, then, to the both of you," Nadir yawned.

Erik smiled his acknowledgement and continued his work as Nadir quietly exited.

* * *

Christine awakened slowly, then jerked to life upon recognizing her surroundings. She was happy that Erik had been a complete gentleman the night before, but she did not wish to linger in his house any longer than necessary. She felt too much under his control and supervision there.

She showered and dressed, and, leaving the bedroom, went to search for Erik. She heard piano music floating down the hallway, and concluded that he must be in his study. _The perfect time to explore a bit!_

The open door of the kitchen beckoned her – it was a luminous, large, and impeccably clean room, she noted approvingly. She checked a door next to the kitchen: an enormous storage closet – _very nice. _Then, she noticed that there was a room next to the master bedroom. She opened the door quietly and entered a partially-furnished nursery.

There was a cradle near the window, a bureau, and a rocking chair. The room was large and decorated in tones of white and yellow. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.

Christine felt a chill and backed quietly toward the door and into Erik.

She stiffened against his solidness, frightened. If she had expected him to be angry at her intrusion, she was wrong. There was no sudden grasping or gripping of her now. Instead, Erik moved to stand beside her, and a gentle hand stroked her back. He watched her, and his eyes were careful. There was a flash of understanding between them: she was afraid, and he knew, and she knew he knew. He would do nothing now to startle her.

Christine felt a stab of longing for him. Who else could ever care enough to know her as Erik did? Yet her longing warred with her fear. Who else could ever need as much from her as Erik needed? She felt herself balancing on a precipice. She remembered the first time she had ever seen Erik, and the hate she had seen in his eyes. How much of him was love, and how much hate?

"The house is built around the garden, you know," Erik said conversationally, indicating the sunlit window. His voice was soothing, his tones nearly hypnotic.

"Beyond the study, it surrounds the garden in a perfect square. There is complete privacy, you see. It´s a pity that the weather is cold now, or we could breakfast outdoors. We shall go into the study instead, though."

He guided her to the familiar room, and she saw that he had arranged a spread of croissants, jellies and tea on the usual low table.

As they breakfasted, Erik led her into their usual easy conversation. They bantered about everything but what was now uppermost on Christine´s mind. Sooner or later she would have to ask about the significance of that nursery. _Two years! I want a two-year engagement! _

"Erik," she started, when there was a lull in their conversation. "About that room…"

He leaned forward, his eyes on hers, and he was about to take her hand when the bell rang.

Erik snarled half a curse, stopping himself after the first syllable only for Christine´s sake, and Nadir entered. His ringing the bell had been nothing more than a superficial courtesy, it seemed.

"Good morning!" he said cheerfully, approaching them with an eager step. Christine smiled and returned his greeting, but Erik merely glowered at him.

"The critics love you!" Nadir said to Christine, bowing low and brandishing the morning paper. "Let me count the adjectives…. 'Superb,' 'marvelous,' 'passionate' – ah, here´s a good one! – 'Sublime.' Not bad for your first performance, eh, my dear?"

"It was the least we could expect," Erik grumbled, still glaring at Nadir.

Nadir handed the Arts section of the newspaper to Christine, who perused the article eagerly.

In the meanwhile, Nadir helped himself to a chair, a cup of tea, and a croissant, and he scanned the Local News section of the paper.

"Oh, here´s a good one!" he said, coming to a small article on the front page and chuckling. "Listen to this, Erik – this happened last night at the Regent Hotel. Don´t you own an interest in that place, by the way? Oh, well, never mind – here, I´ll read you the article: 'Second Floor of Regent Hotel Evacuated,' it says. 'The guests on the second floor of the Regent Hotel were evacuated at 12:30 am Saturday when noxious fumes leaked from a container in one of the rooms, police said. One hotel guest was taken into custody for possession of a controlled substance.

"We still don´t know what the gas was, but the canister was in this guy´s room, along with a lot of other interesting stuff," said the Regent manager, Montgomery Nichols. "Every now and then someone really weird checks in."

The police laboratory is analyzing the contents of the canister. Along with the container, police seized three ounces of cocaine found in the same room, twenty feet of rope, handcuffs, an inflatable doll, twenty condoms, a vibrator, and a camera…'" finished Nadir, laughing.

"Oh dear, oh dear," he continued to chortle, still scanning the article.

Lifting his eyes from the paper, he looked at Erik and Christine, astonished to find one livid and the other blushing crimson. He scratched his head, confused.

"What´s wrong?"

* * *

"Is the trip still on?" Meg asked Christine point-blank that evening after the show.

They were at Auntie Val´s, and Christine felt like an escapee. Erik had made it clear that he wanted her to stay with him during the entire weekend and the three days beyond. She had coaxed and pleaded with him, and he had relented and permitted – _permitted! – _her to go home. His unhappiness with her departure had been patent.

"I _need _this trip, Meg!" said Christine, picking at a spot on her sleeve nervously. "I can´t tell you how much I need it!"

"Well, what about the people he has watching you?" asked Meg.

"Yeah, well, I´ve been meaning to tell you I´ve noticed something. Erik´s got someone new watching me now. I noticed him just tonight."

"Someone new?"

"Yeah. I have to admit, he´s not really discreet. He sits in a Mercedes in front of the house, and anyone can tell he´s watching us."

"You´re kidding! It´s really not like Mr. DeJongh to hire someone so obvious."

"I know – well, I guess it´s because he´s new. You´ll have to check him out when you leave. He´s young, kind of squarely-built, and muscular? Just take a look when you go."

"Will do. So, how do we avoid this guy? Just sneak ´round the back?"

"That´s right!" said Christine. "As I said, he stays right in front. It really shouldn´t be too hard…"

"_He_´s going to have a fit, you know. I could lose more than my job…"

"Erik? No! I´ll leave him a letter explaining things and telling him when I´ll be back. Then we shut off our cellphones, and we´re off!"

"That simple?"

"That simple!" answered Christine, praying that it really would be so.


	16. Chapter 16

**Once again, a million thanks to all those who have taken the time and trouble to review. You guys keep me going! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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_Monday morning, finally?_

Brandon stretched his cramped muscles and checked his watch: 7 am. He had been camped out in front of Christine´s house since Saturday, when Carla had posted bond for him, after which she had given him a direct order.

"You will stake out her house, Brandon! No more of your ridiculous schemes! You see where your idea got you?"

Brandon had mumbled a resentful protest, but Carla had persisted.

"You will go, and you will monitor Christine´s every move! Where´s the vial, by the way? Did the cops take the vial?"

The vial had been safe in Brandon´s apartment. It seemed it was the only thing he had forgotten to take with him to the hotel room. He had not thought that he would need it.

Brandon shifted in his seat, then got out of the car. Part of the night he had slept in the back seat, and his muscles were still protesting the discomfort of the situation.

He stood on the sidewalk and stretched, then froze in horror as he heard Carla´s voice shrieking his name. Soon she appeared, running down a side street, a paper bag in her hand.

"Get in the car, now!" she screamed, her hair flying wildly behind her.

As Brandon ducked back into the car, Carla was already sliding into the passenger´s seat.

"Start it now!" she wheezed. "How could you miss them like that?"

"Miss who?" Brandon asked irritably.

"Miss Christine Daaé just headed down that side street in a white Jetta. Pull out now, that´s it – now, make a right! If you hurry, we can catch up!"

"I have no problem catching up with a _Jetta,_" said Brandon, contemptuously, as he floored the accelerator. "But are you sure it´s her? She doesn´t even have a car!"

"Meg Giry was driving – it´s _her _car."

"It´s seven in the morning. Where the hell would they be going _now_?"

"We´re going to follow them until we find out," said Carla, relaxing as the Jetta came into view.

She reached into the paper bag.

"I brought bagels and coffee for your breakfast, darling. Have you eaten since last night? Here, take a bite of this…"

* * *

Christine sat examining the road map on her lap, so immersed in her sense of freedom that she was completely unaware that she and Meg were being followed.

"Once we get on the Interstate, it´s a pretty straight shot for about 120 miles, then we take the exit to Brenner. After that, it´ll be a little more complicated."

Meg glanced at her and sniffed.

"If that´s what you´re worried about, you amaze me. Maybe we´ve given you-know-who the slip, but I´m scared stiff of what´ll happen when we come back. Maybe I can go into hiding for a few days."

"Don´t worry. He won´t have to know you were involved at all."

"Are you kidding? Do you think he won´t know? You have no idea… Did you at least leave him a note?"

"Yes, I did. I slipped it under Mr. Khan´s office door, so he can deliver it today."

"What did you say in it?"

"That I´m sorry, I know he was expecting me this morning, but I just need some time and space to reflect."

"Oh, he should take that _very _well," said Meg, all sarcasm. "I´m dead for sure!"

"Well, what would _you _have written?"

"I would have included promises of eternal, undying love, devotion, vows to serve him breakfast in bed every morning…"

"Boy, can you grovel!" commented Christine, laughing.

"Hey, I´m one of the best grovellers there is!" responded Meg cheerfully in spite of her general grimness this morning. "I was telling Raoul the other night…"

"Wait a minute!" interrupted Christine. "You´re still seeing _Raoul?_ Why? I thought you couldn´t stand him … and I thought he´d decided you were…"

"A treacherous bitch?" Meg supplied. "Oh, don´t look at me that way, that´s what you and he really think of me, right? No – please, no polite denials.

"I´ll let you in on a little secret," continued Meg, her voice softer. "I saw Raoul a couple of days last week, and then I went to see you with him on _Bohème_´s opening night. We´ve had several long talks, you know. He´s been really worried about you, and I still can´t tell if he´s just being your big brother or whether he feels something romantic for you."

"Oh, Meg, that would be the last thing I need!"

"I know, I know. But it helps to know if he´s going to make trouble, especially with Mr. DeJongh so liable to blow up."

"I see. But, Meg, if you really can´t abide him…"

"Well, we´ve been getting along much better lately. I think I might have been quick to judge him…"

"But isn´t he always checking out other women when he´s with you? Didn´t he stick you with the bill at a couple of expensive places?"

"I complained about the ogling of women to him, and he´s trying to control that. He didn´t know he was doing it. And he paid me back for those restaurant bills," Meg said.

"So, now you can stand him?" said Christine, smiling her incredulity. "And what about his relationship with his aunt? Is he still just expecting a fat inheritance?"

"So I jumped to conclusions!" snapped Meg.

There was a silence.

"Look," said Meg, finally, "I know I can confide in you, and you´d better know this, because you´ll find out sooner or later. I slept with Raoul."

"Oh, _Meg…_!" Christine started.

"It was after the _La Bohème _première. We got a little drunk that night, and one thing led to another…"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I´m okay. No big deal. But I kind of left him afterwards, and he´s been calling and looking for me for the past two days. I´ve been turning off my phone and hiding from him."

"Why can´t you face him?"

"Because I don´t want to complicate my life!"

"I think you just did."

* * *

Raoul entered his aunt´s house to find her in the living-room, contemplating a note.

"Auntie Val, is Christine up yet? I was wondering if I could talk to her."

"Yes, Raoul, she is up. And, no, you cannot talk with her."

"Well, now, why not?" asked Raoul, trying not to whine.

"She´s not here at the moment."

"When will she be back?"

"On Wednesday evening."

"Wednesday evening? Where did she go?"

"She didn´t say, but I think I have an idea. I overhear things, you know…"

"Well, this is just great! I really needed to talk to her!"

"Why don´t you try talking _with _her?"

"Huh?"

"Raoul, if you really want, I can have her call you when I catch up with her and her friend. I´ve packed a bag and I intend to follow them to the lodge. They need a chaperone."

Raoul froze. "I´m going with you!"

"Then they´ll _definitely _need a chaperone," responded Auntie Val tartly. "Don´t worry, Hon, I´m not completely feeble. I can do this on my own."

"I know, Auntie Val, but please … You said Meg is with her? I really need to see Meg!"

"Would you kindly make up your mind which of the young ladies you wish to pursue?"

"Meg…it´s Meg! Please, Auntie, just let me fill up my tank and we´ll go!"

"_My _tank is already full, and I am going to go this minute. You may be a passenger, if you wish."

"In your Lincoln Continental? Oh, God! Let me drive, at least!"

"No."

"But you hardly see over the dashboard!"

"Take it or leave it, Dear Heart. I´m driving."

Raoul sighed, resigned. "This _has_ to be love," he muttered to himself as they went out the door.

* * *

Brandon and Carla had been traveling behind the Jetta on the Interstate for an hour when a black Ferrari with tinted windows overtook them.

"Shit!" yelled Brandon, honking. He startled Carla, who had nodded off. "Did you see that? He passed us like we were standing still! He thinks he´s got nuts … Now, if me and him were in a room, alone, with no Ferrari, we´d just see about that!"

It seemed as though the driver of the Ferrari had heard Brandon. He slowed down considerably, and he appeared to be waiting for them to catch up. As they approached the gleaming black car, they noticed a glint of metal protruding from the driver´s window.

"What the hell…?" started Brandon.

There was a deafening blast, and everything stopped.

The Ferrari sped away.

* * *

"Did you hear something?" Christine asked, glancing behind them.

"Maybe a bit of thunder," said Meg, yawning and checking her watch. "How much longer before the exit?"

* * *

"This is amazing, just some kind of amazing!" said the mechanic, shaking his head.

Brandon grimaced and was silent. The mechanic continued with his post-mortem on the Mercedes.

"Y´know, whoever did this knew what he was doin´. You sure you didn´t get a look at the weapon?"

"Hardly saw anything," Brandon muttered.

"Well, he just aimed that thing, whatever it was, at the exact point where the trajectory would be perfect, and it went clean through the radiator and shattered that engine block. Shot it right out. I never seen nothin´ like it! Total loss, you know. Now, I guess the chassis is okay, but to repair this…"

"That won´t be necessary," interrupted Carla, her frustration evident. "Just tell us where we can rent a car, would you?"

"Oh. Well, yeah. There´s the Triple A Rent-a-Car pretty close to here, on Fifth and Jones. You gonna talk with the cops?"

"No!" snapped Brandon, thinking of his latest experience with the police.

"Look, we´re in a hurry. We´ll be back later, okay?" said Carla, as she grasped Brandon by the arm.

The mechanic scratched his head, staring after them as they left.

* * *

"You know that the speed limit is 65 miles per hour," Raoul commented to his aunt through gritted teeth. "You could go faster, you know."

"I´m going plenty fast, young man," answered Auntie Val. "I don´t approve of all these reckless drivers. And I don´t care for all their rudeness, either. Imagine honking at a person that way!"

"They´re only honking at you because you´re doing 45 in the left lane," grumbled Raoul.

"Now, Raoul, that´s not true. I´m going at least 50 miles per hour, and that´s quite fast enough," his aunt protested.

"Right, fine," muttered Raoul, "50! At least could you tell me where we´re going?"

"The girls will be staying at the Falls Lodge in Breyerton, which is really an excellent choice. Christine wishes to reflect on her engagement, and I suppose it should do her no harm, but she really should be planning her wedding now. This should give me time to discuss some ideas with her regarding her dress, the flowers, and the cake. The music will be supervised by her fiancé, of course, but I need to consult him about the guest list. Such a charming young man…"

"You think DeJongh is charming? Then why do you think Christine is running?" growled Raoul.

"Now, Raoul, he is her fiancé now, regardless of what your feelings might be. Do I detect a bit of the green-eyed monster in your behavior?"

"I am _not _jealous!" exclaimed Raoul, stung, and then considered. "I suppose," he continued in a quieter voice, "that I might once have been jealous. I´ve known Christine forever, and she always had the cutest crush on me, you know…?"

"And then Erik DeJongh came along. And so did Meg, isn´t it so?"

"He practically set me up with Meg, and I didn´t know it, until one day when she finally tells me. She was never really into me." The last part was almost as quiet as a whisper, and spoken in rueful tones.

"Now, Raoul, that´s not true," said his aunt softly. "Believe me, it´s not. I´ve been around a great many years, and I know a little something about people. Your Meg adores you, though she would prefer not to. You can be a frustrating young man, at times."

"So I hear," muttered Raoul pensively.

Auntie Valerius glanced at him, smiling indulgently.

"I believe there´s hope for you yet!"

* * *

"A Ford Focus! I can´t believe that I´m driving a Ford Focus! _Not _a cool car," moaned Brandon as he and Carla pulled onto the highway in the rental car. "And it´s _orange_!"

"Don´t worry about that!" snapped Carla impatiently. "Just try to think where those two might have gone. There are hundreds of lodges and resorts in this area. It´s like finding a needle in a haystack…"

There was a long, dejected pause. Brandon continued to drive in sullen silence, while Carla pondered, seething with frustration. Suddenly, Brandon brightened.

"Carla, baby," he said, his eyes fixed on an ancient Lincoln Continental cruising – no, _sitting still _– in the left lane. "I think we just found your needle!"

Carla straightened up in the passenger seat. "What do you mean?"

"You see that Lincoln? That´s Christine´s Aunt Valerium in there with that nephew of hers. Imagine the luck! I bet they´re going to meet somewhere."

Carla smiled slowly, and she reached over to rub Brandon´s thigh.

"You are still priceless, no matter how many times I´ve bought you!" she crowed. "You won´t lose them?"

"Lose them! How can I lose them, if they´re not even moving?"

"Well, follow them discreetly, then," directed Carla, her hands clasped and eyes sparkling with joy.

_Discreetly! _Brandon gritted his teeth and slowed to about 50 miles per hour as other drivers began to honk and overtake him.

* * *

It was just past midday when Christine and Meg arrived at the Falls Lodge. It was a graceful, stately old building which was over a century old and had once belonged to a wealthy family. Now it boasted the added luxuries of a restaurant and a spa.

"We can get facials, body wraps, and massages, and they have a sauna," said Meg appreciatively as they freshened up in their room.

Christine smiled as she looked out the sliding glass doors. Their room faced the lake, and the changing colors of the trees on the mountains beyond made the view even more pleasant. She stretched out on her bed, luxuriating in the moment. _No stress. No pressure. Just here and now._

"We could go out rowing, you know," said Christine. "We could even go fishing!"

"Did we bring any tackle? I think not!" responded Meg. "And what would we do if we caught something?"

"Throw it back, of course," said Christine dreamily. "Let the poor fish loose. Give it its freedom."

"Then why fish in the first place? Look, we haven´t eaten. Shall we plan our visit here over lunch?" said Meg.

Christine nodded, and the two prepared themselves to go down to the restaurant.

* * *

Carla and Brandon arrived at the lodge´s front desk as soon as Gemma and Raoul had received their room keys and gone upstairs.

"I´m sorry, but there are no rooms available at the moment," the hotel clerk said in response to their inquiries.

"No rooms?" said Carla indignantly. "It´s the off-season! There are hardly any cars in your parking lot! Would you please explain to me how this dump could possibly be booked solid?"

"There are no rooms available," replied the clerk, with admirable equanimity.

"Look, Miss…" started Carla, but Brandon interrupted her.

"Forgive us, Sweetheart, but we´ve been on the road a while and nerves are kinda raw, you know? Look, I bet somebody as sexy and hot as you are could pull strings and get us a room, huh? If you tried a little, I know you could. And I´ll be around, know what I mean?" he said, flexing his muscles and offering her a fifty-dollar bill. His smile insinuated the best of the bedroom, and his eyes traveled over her body appreciatively.

The hotel clerk went slightly white, but she picked up the fifty-dollar bill and let it drop to the floor at Brandon´s feet. Her smile was flinty, her eyes completely cold.

"There are no…rooms…available," she enunciated carefully. "Shall I call security?"

Suddenly, Carla pulled Brandon away from the desk and into a secluded corner with a hiss and a warning finger – _Quiet! _

Christine and Meg passed them, chatting as they approached the restaurant.

* * *

"You know, I have no missed calls on my phone," said Christine happily, turning her phone off again. "I think he must have read my note and understood."

"Mmmm…That´s great," said Meg, in dubious tones.

Both women had treated themselves to Trout Amandine, and they happily contemplated the panorama outside the window.

"It´s so quiet here, Meg! I think we´ll finally have the peace that we´ve been needing," added Christine.

"I hope so, Christine. I truly hope so."


	17. Chapter 17

**Well, I****´m finally able to update, in spite of a dog of a week (so far). I thank all those who have reviewed. You´re all awesome, and you really brighten my day!**

**I would like to thank those who pointed out the Raoul/Brandon glitch in my last chapter. Thanks to you, I was able to correct it!**

**I always try to answer signed reviews. If you review anonymously, I assume you don´t want me stuffing your inbox with my ridiculous answers. Still, know that I´m very grateful!**

**Another long chapter. Hope you like!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

"Why do I need to do _this_?" Brandon asked, for about the hundredth time. He never understood Carla´s way of reasoning.

"Just write the note!" snapped Carla, handing him a pen. She glanced approvingly at the bouquet of red roses which they were about to send to Christine´s room. _More than adequate! _

"If you let me do things my way, I´d be down at the lodge looking for the girl. This is a waste of time!" groaned Brandon. He hated to write.

"You need to take things more slowly – you need to court her to make sure things move in the right direction. You have three days, after all. Honestly, I don´t understand the problems you men have with the idea of courtship!"

"Hey, Sweetheart, you and I never needed it," Brandon responded, flashing Carla a quick smile and giving her left buttock a discreet squeeze.

Carla stiffened, rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. "The note, Brandon!"

"Okay, okay," he sighed resignedly, and started to think. It seemed to take him a great deal of time and effort, and he stood at the counter for a long time, his pen poised but unmoving. Finally, inspiration stunned him with a verbal brickbat:

U n Me

Destiny

He wrote this out in a careful, cramped hand and tucked it into the envelope.

"I´m a poet and don´t know it!" he said proudly. Carla sighed and stared at him for a long moment.

"_What_?" he said, irritated by her baleful gaze.

"Nothing," she answered, and she quickly turned her attention to dispatching the flowers. A sudden melancholy tugged at her.

O_nce, they threw flowers at MY feet. Now here I am, in a florist´s shop, ordering flowers for my worst enemy!_

* * *

Christine disappointed Meg by drifting to sleep immediately after lunch. The events of the past few weeks had drained her, and the long nap was exactly what she needed.

She awakened refreshed and alone, and she decided to strike out on her own and explore some of the wooded paths and trails surrounding the lake.

Upon descending to the lodge´s reception area, she scanned the lobby in search of Meg. No sign of her, but _who was that?_

Christine ducked behind a leather armchair and peeked out as Raoul entered the lobby. He appeared to be looking for someone, and she had no doubt that he sought Meg. _How could he know where we are? _

Finally, Raoul passed, and she straightened up and emerged from behind the chair. An extremely tall woman was staring at her from across the room, her grey eyes cool and amused.

Christine smiled in embarrassment. "Found it!" she said, holding up a coin she had pocketed (which on later inspection turned out to be a nickel), and fled outdoors.

The cool, clean breezes soothed her burning cheeks, and she spent a relaxing hour contemplating the colors and textures of autumn and the golden light of the waning sun.

When she entered the room after her walk, Meg was sitting on her bed and frowning at a note. A dozen roses sat in a vase on the bureau.

Meg handed the note to Christine.

"Who on earth do you think sent the flowers?" she asked her.

Christine looked at the note and laughed.

"Well, it sure wasn´t Erik! Nobody signed the envelope or anything?"

"Nope, and the delivery guy didn´t know a thing. This is weird!" said Meg, frustrated.

"Well, maybe it´s not so weird, Meg. I was down in the reception area earlier, and I saw Raoul looking around. He´s here, Meg, and he´s looking for you."

"Oh, no! Geez, I thought I had a so-so opinion of him before. He doesn´t write worth a dang! Look at this! `U n Me/ Destiny´? _Pee_-yew!" said Meg, wrinkling her nose.

"Well, maybe he was in a hurry," ventured Christine.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Hide me!" Meg said in a fierce whisper.

Christine pointed under the bed.

"Are you kidding? I´m not going under there! I hate dust bunnies," and she shuddered.

The knock was repeated.

Christine pointed in the direction of the closet.

"Too predictable!" Meg mouthed.

Finally, Christine pulled Meg into the bathroom, directed her into the bath, and pulled the shower curtains.

"Please, Christine, I know Meg´s here," said Raoul as she opened the door for him. He entered and scanned the room. "I _know _she´s here! I saw her come in here!" he said, turning to Christine, his voice sharp with near-accusation.

"She´s in the shower," said Christine tersely, "and you´re not going in there."

Indeed, Raoul had taken several steps toward the bathroom and seemed ready to invade. He stopped, however.

"I don´t hear the water running," he said accusingly. Suddenly, the sound of the shower running became apparent. Raoul grimaced.

"What is the _deal _with her? Why won´t she talk to me?"

"Well, Raoul, I really don´t know. I guess she just needs her space right now. I understand things between you two have gotten pretty involved, and maybe it was too soon."

"No," said Raoul. "No, it wasn´t."

"Well, that´s _your _opinion!" Christine responded. "Nice flowers, by the way," she commented, indicating the bouquet on the bureau.

Raoul glanced at the roses, confused. "Uh, yes. I guess they are. Who…?"

"All right, this is enough!" interrupted Meg, bursting out of the bathroom, the picture of wrath. Her sweater sleeve and shoes were wet; it was obvious that she had turned the shower on too abruptly. "I don´t know why you´re calling me and following me around, Raoul, but did you have to follow me all the way _out here_? Didn´t you hear Christine? I need some _space, _for gosh sakes!"

"I love you!" snapped Raoul suddenly, loudly, and even harshly.

Meg stared at him, stunned. Doubt shaded her every feature.

"I think I´ll just be going," said Christine quietly, and she left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

There were a few hotel guests lingering at the bar near the lobby when Brandon arrived at the lodge. _This lodge is way cooler than the strip motel where I´m staying, _he noted bitterly. Still, he had business to attend to, and pleasant business at that, so he approached the bar. He would have a quick drink to relax his inhibitions before he went up to Christine´s room.

He ordered a whiskey straight and nursed it for a few minutes, his eyes on a tall, cool brunette with lovely grey eyes who was now seated at a stool near him. She had legs that seemed to go on forever…_I wonder if they go all the way up?_

She turned and smiled at Brandon, her hand nursing the last dregs of a Manhattan.

"Are you alone here, too?" she asked, her voice husky and seductive.

Brandon´s eyes travelled the length of her body approvingly.

"Oh, yeah," he said, forgetting completely about Christine. He remembered the vial, however. _I wonder if I shouldn´t try some of this now…?_

"How about I buy you a drink, Sweetheart?" said Brandon, smiling ingratiatingly. He flexed his shoulders and arms so that his muscles would stand out more. _Too bad I´m wearing a shirt! _

"Oh, I´d love one," the Sweetheart intoned huskily. "But let me buy you one, too…I _insist,_" she added, placing her hand on his well-muscled bicep.

Brandon was in heaven. The drinks came, and he decided to put his plan to work.

"What is that? A Manhattan? Can I see your drink?"

"If you let me see _yours_," the Sweetheart rasped.

Brandon laughed, and they exchanged drinks.

"Do you see that bartender over there? Do you think he knows his pants are unzipped?" said Brandon, and during the time that the Sweetheart looked over at the bartender, a long moment, he poured half the vial into her drink.

"I don´t see that they´re unzipped," she said as she turned back towards him, her smile beginning to fade.

"Oh – my mistake," said Brandon, laughing and handing her the Manhattan.

She appeared to relax, and she laughed with him.

They chatted and sipped their drinks for several minutes, and Brandon kept his eyes on her face, searching for signs that the drug had taken effect. He noticed with pride that she could not tear her gaze away from him, either.

"So," he asked, finally. "What´s your name?"

She hiccoughed and giggled, and then tried to speak. "Ji….Jill…"

Then she stared at Brandon and exploded into laughter.

"Well," said Brandon, flushing slightly, "What´s so funny?"

She continued to laugh uncontrollably. In between peals of laughter, she would glance at him, which only seemed to increase her mirth.

"Oh…! Oh…!" she wheezed helplessly, tears in her eyes.

Brandon had flushed purple by this time. The room seemed increasingly warm, but his anger seemed to be disorienting his senses. He had never tolerated being the object of mirth or mockery well.

"What the _hell _is wrong with you, girl?" he spat.

She continued to laugh, but grasped his hand and pulled him out of the bar and toward the rooms.

"What, does it _amuse _you that we´re gonna get it on?" snarled Brandon as she pulled him into a room, still laughing hysterically. "Well, you´re gonna find out…"

Suddenly, the room seemed to lurch and darken. The last thing Brandon heard before he passed out completely was the sound of more feminine giggles.

* * *

When she awakened the next morning, Christine glanced over at Meg´s bed: empty, and still made. So, Raoul must have met with some success on his mission.

She sighed. She had ordered room service the evening before and had dined alone while watching the television. _Two things I never do anymore, and that I don´t miss at all: dining alone…and the television! _

She could scarcely admit to herself how much she missed Erik. She realized now that she had been so focused on her fears and on combating the pressure he was placing on her that she had not realized how much she genuinely enjoyed his company. She adjusted her pillow and turned to the other side of the bed, and her eyes focused on a single red rose. It was not of the insipid hothouse variety imported from South America, prized more for its form than its fragrance. No, as she held it in her fingers and stroked its petals, she noticed its sweet fragrance and the old-variety chaliced form of the bloom.

_And so he is here. _

Her gentler contemplations of a few moments before gave way to both pleasure and exasperation. The rose was both an assurance and a challenge.

_You´re watching me, Erik? Well, check me out tonight! I´ll do my best to bear watching!_

She went to her suitcase and examined her little – very little – black dress. She had not seriously considered wearing it on this trip before, but now that Erik was crossing lines, she felt that she should do so, too.

Brandon´s stomach lurched once more, and he retched into the toilet. Whatever he had drunk the night before had left him with a splitting headache and terrible nausea.

"Would you please explain to me again exactly how you ended up this way? How is it you did not just work on seducing the bitch? _Why _did you have to go to the bar first?"

Carla stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

"I told you," Brandon mumbled, completely miserable, "I needed something to give me courage."

"Well, you´ve never been a coward about such things before," commented Carla acidly.

Brandon was silent. He had not told Carla about the Sweetheart at the bar. He was sure that she would not understand. _He _certainly didn´t understand what had happened. Carla had discovered him in a semi-comatose state on the bed in their motel room the night before. He could not explain his condition to her, nor could he ascertain how he had ended up in the room. He still had his keys and his wallet. All his money was intact, as were his credit cards, and he could not explain, even to himself, why the woman he met at the bar had drugged him. He also wondered how he could explain to Carla that the drug in the vial did not achieve the effects they had been counting on.

"Carla, about that bottle, or vial, or whatever…"

"You still have it, don´t you? You didn´t lose it?"

"Yeah, I still have it…"

"Well, then, you´d better make good use of it tonight. You´ve wasted precious time, and there´s none to lose now, do you understand me?"

"Yeah," sighed Brandon, feeling sick and weak. "I understand."

* * *

Christine had enjoyed a quiet day rowing and walking, and she had ended her activities with a visit to the spa. She had only seen Meg at lunch, and they had chatted, inevitably, about Raoul.

"He wants a relationship," Meg had announced.

"Uh-huh," Christine had replied, nodding. "Tell me something I don´t know!"

"I might let it happen," Meg had responded, "and I hate myself for it!"

Now, hours later, Christine looked at herself in the mirror. Makeup, check; hair, check; shoes, check; dress, barely there! _We´ll just take this down to the bar and see how closely Erik is watching me!_

She grabbed a sweater and went downstairs to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. There were very few guests in evidence, but as she perched on a stool, someone sidled up and sat on the stool immediately next to her. She edged slightly away instinctively before she looked to see who it was.

It was the security person who had been watching her house! She recognized him immediately. So, Erik had sent this person in his stead to watch over her, and watch over her closely, from the look of things.

"Hey," said Brandon, and he flexed his muscles slightly as he smiled.

"Hello," said Christine, coolly. "I _do _believe we should introduce ourselves, under the circumstances. I´m Christine," she said, offering her hand.

Brandon was ecstatic. He had not needed to mention the roses he had sent, or the note. _This is going better than I´d hoped! I´d better use this chance well …I´ll be suave, sophisticated…_

He took her proffered hand and kissed it noisily. Christine looked startled, but Brandon ignored her face, preferring to focus his gaze on her breasts.

"I´m Brandon," he told them, then forced his eyes to Christine´s face. _Say something clever, dude…_

"Do you clean your pants with Windex?" he asked her.

She looked down at her dress, bewildered, and shook her head slowly.

"My... pants?" she ventured.

"You _must _clean your pants with Windex, ´cause I can see myself in them!" he finished brightly. He watched her hopefully, waiting for the amused reaction that would certainly come.

"Um…very _interesting_!" Christine snapped. Brandon noted with surprise that she was scowling now.

"Look…_Brendan…_since you´re working for me in a funny sort of way, it would be nice if you would do me a favour and drop this sweater off at my room. It´s warm in here, and I don´t need it." _Anything to get rid of this guy! What was Erik thinking? _

Brandon did not quite understand everything Christine had said, but he comprehended something essential: he had been invited to her room already! She wished to follow him discreetly. Very well…

"The key?" he nearly whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially and holding out his hand.

"What? I thought you guys knew how to get in without keys! Okay, here…you´ll give it back, right?"

"Maybe," said Brandon, and he winked and headed off.

Christine sighed with relief, shaking her head.

She suddenly found herself caught in a steely grip, and before she had time to react, Erik was looking down at her, his face livid.

"How would you like him to die?" he hissed. "The lady chooses! Would you like him flayed alive, or drawn and quartered? Strangling´s too quick for drama, but if you would prefer it…"

His breaths were heavy, laden with emotion. "Know, Christine, that I would kill for you!"

"What are you talking about?" Christine interrupted. A panicked glance around revealed that there was not a soul in sight. Even the bartender had disappeared.

"_You_, my love…in this dress…with _that…!" _his eyes flicked briefly in the direction Brandon had gone. His grip on her increased, and Christine was crushed against him.

"You…_you _hired him! You know what he´s like! So, why do you want to kill him now?" she nearly bleated, her lungs constricted.

He relaxed his grip slightly, and the pain in his eyes abated, replaced by hopeful doubt.

"I did not hire him, nor would I ever! What made you think _that_?"

"Well, he was sitting in a car in front of our house for so long, obviously watching us, that I thought…"

"No."

"Then who…?"

"He´s Carla´s lover."

"Then what is he doing in my room?"

"Christine, I am a gentleman."

Comprehension dawned. The color drained from Christine´s face, then returned in a furious, red blush.

"Oh, I´ll murder him!"

Erik´s grip loosened more. It was warm now, and comforting.

"I´ve already told you, my love -- I´ll do that for you. I´ve been dying to off him for a long time now!" he said.

"Erik," said Christine, and she stroked his cheek with her hand, truly glad to see him now. He leaned into her touch slightly, and they both relaxed.

"Erik, you know I don´t want you to…´off´ anyone, especially on my account. I think there´s a reasonable way to deal with this."

"Indeed?" he murmured, his lips at her temple.

"And I have a plan," she continued, "but I need your help."


	18. Chapter 18

**I am so grateful to those of you who have so kindly reviewed. Thank you so much! You keep me going.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**

_The girl´s pretty boring, _concluded Brandon once he had finished going through Christine´s luggage. No interesting lingerie, nothing to snort, and no visible sign of birth control devices. _Carla´s a lot more fun, _he thought, holding up a plain white brassiere and shaking his head. For a girl who dressed so well, she certainly did not have much interesting going on beneath her clothes.

_Could it be true she´s never…?_ He had dismissed Carla´s speculation that Christine might be a virgin out of hand. She simply did not _look _like a virgin to him – that is, she was not ugly, and she showed no apparent signs of disease. Besides, there was her relationship with Erik DeJongh. _Why would a dude like that go for a girl who doesn´t put out? She´s a hottie, it´s true, but still…but, then, maybe a weirdo who wears a mask could be into strange rituals and he´s waiting for an eclipse or something before he pops that cherry…_

Brandon smiled. _This could be fun…_

There was a tap at the door. _Finally! What took her so long?_ He stuffed the bra hurriedly back into the suitcase and opened the door to admit Christine. He was amused to see that she was blushing and would not meet his eyes. She seemed to be looking at her suitcase, in fact. He followed her gaze and noticed that he had left part of the brassiere peeking out. _So, she´s easily embarrassed! _Feeling manly, he flexed his muscles, watching her reaction. Her jaw seemed to be set and rigid for some reason. Well, he would have time to show her how to relax. He reached for her arm.

"I…I need to go into the bathroom," she said, skittering away from him. "To get ready…you know?"

Brandon smiled his indulgence. "Sure, Babe," he said. "Look, you want something to put you in the mood?"

He drew a small packet out of his jacket pocket and showed her something white and powdery. As Christine looked at it, he was sure he heard her gasp slightly.

"N-no…no, thank you," she stammered. "But I know something that you can do to help put me in the mood …in the mood for this."

"Yeah?" said Brandon. "Sure! Whatever you want, Sweetheart."

He reached out toward her, but she shied away from him, smiling timidly.

"You see," she said, "I´ve never done this before, and since I´m going to be, well, shedding my clothes and all, could you ….could you be ready for me when I come out? I mean, totally unclothed? Because that way we´ll both be on equal terms, sort of…"

"No problem, Babe," said Brandon, and he noted that she seemed to be relaxing already.

As she entered the bathroom, he was already stripping his shirt off. She closed the door rapidly, slamming and locking it, and he grinned and started unbuckling his belt. He stretched out on the bed, turgid with anticipation, and punched the pillows, waiting.

"Are you…are you ready?" Christine´s voice floated from behind the bathroom door.

"As ready as I´ll ever be!" he said, his tones melodious. "You, Sweetheart?"

"Yes, in just a minute," she replied.

Brandon sighed, drumming his fingers and waiting. As the minutes wore on, he became gradually more aware of noises from outside the room. There was the usual murmur of voices as people passed, but now he noticed a crackling noise, as of someone crumpling up paper. Its volume increased, and he began to _smell _something acrid … smoke? The sound of the smoke alarm pierced the air.

"Fire!" he shouted, starting up and grabbing a blanket. Forgetting about Christine, he wrapped the blanket around himself, ran to the door, and flung it open.

Black smoke billowed into the room. Brandon froze for a minute, deciding what to do; then, panic set in and completely dictated his actions.

He dropped the blanket as he put a hand over his mouth and nose and ran through the smoke and towards the lobby. He could hear the sound of sirens, he could feel the heat of the fire behind him, and his ears were filled with the roaring sound of the flames. Within the roar, there was a hiss which seemed to call his name. His panic turned to absolute terror. He continued to run.

Then, suddenly, Brandon found himself, nude, in the lodge´s reception area. His sight seemed to clear, and there was no sign of smoke or of a fire anywhere. As the cool air hit his skin, he realized that the only aspect of his condition which had not been imaginary was his nakedness.

There were sudden wolf-whistles, outraged shouts, and catcalls, and he surveyed the lobby. "WELCOME DEN MOTHERS!" read a cardboard sign on a nearby wall. Families which had been milling about and socializing, punch and paper plates in hand, were now frozen in shock and staring at Brandon. There was a smattering of applause from one end of the room.

The silence was broken by murmurings which quickly elevated to a roar. Brandon looked for a hiding-place, covering his crotch with both hands, and as he retreated towards the rooms again, he saw a familiar figure coming towards him with the blanket he had dropped: the Sweetheart from the night before. _What was her name?_

"I believe you dropped this?" she said to him coolly as she handed him the blanket.

Brandon quickly covered himself, and he growled something incoherent to the woman as he started back towards Christine´s room. Four policemen blocked his way, however.

"What´s going on?" he snapped.

"That´s what we´d like to know," replied a sergeant. "Please come with us."

* * *

Brandon was ushered into the manager´s office, and he was surprised to see Carla waiting within. She glanced up at him, her eyes hostile. There were several other people there – the lodge´s manager, the bartender, and the Sweetheart, who had followed the entourage into the office.

"We found your associate in the parking lot. This was in her possession. Do you recognize it?" the police sergeant asked Brandon, holding up the now-familiar vial.

Brandon´s eyes rested on Carla, and he understood. She had come to deliver the vial to him, thinking in her ignorance that it contained a drug which would help him to seduce Christine. Little did she know…

"The vial was reported stolen on the morning after it disappeared from my study," Mr. DeJongh´s icy voice proclaimed from behind Brandon. "There was some misunderstanding regarding the drug´s effects. Miss Forleo was under the mistaken belief that it was an aphrodisiac of some sort."

Brandon glanced behind him – he did not at all like the icy feeling creeping up his spine. Erik DeJongh stood there, his figure tall, menacing and almost batlike in the shadows near the door. He seemed poised to trap somebody.

"And you say that he placed some of the stolen drug into Miss Jillian Blount´s drink?" the sergeant prompted. Something in Mr. DeJongh´s presence seemed to intimidate even the police.

"He sure did," said the Sweetheart, and her grey eyes no longer held any amusement. "He obviously thought I´d be easier for him that way. The barkeep saved the glass for analysis, so we can pretty much prove what Brandon tried to do to me."

"Look," said Brandon, finally finding his voice, "I don´t know what the hell was in the vial! I don´t know who this woman is, and…"

"You don´t remember _me_? Well, I sure remember you, _Sweetheart_, and what you tried to pull. But it really backfired, didn´t it? The stuff you gave me just made me laugh like a hyena…"

"But you drugged _me_! She put something in _my _drink! I passed out!" Brandon turned to the bartender. "Did you save the glass _I _used? Did you?"

The bartender looked confused. "I don´t usually _do _that sort of thing, but the lady came to me in a big hurry wanting the glass. I remembered her and I hadn´t cleaned the glass she´d been drinking from, so it was easy. But why would _she _want to drug _you_?"

"It´s part of a trap," said Carla tiredly. "Erik DeJongh set a trap for us!"

"That´s what you´ve been saying, Ma'am," said the sergeant, his voice dry with skepticism.

"Look at this!" said another policeman. This one was a corporal who had been quietly rummaging through something in the corner. Brandon saw that he was holding _his_ jacket and pants – he had been searching the pockets. His heart sank as he saw him hold up his packet of coke.

"Possession of a controlled substance," pronounced the sergeant, his voice grave. "Tell me, Kid, was it this stuff that made you run into the lobby mother naked?"

Brandon was silent, his humiliation complete. His eyes met Carla´s, and there was a cold flash of understanding between them: _It´s over. _

_

* * *

_

"And, of course, you didn´t tell the police that Jillian Blount just happens to work for you?" asked Christine as she finished sorting through her suitcase. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of Brandon touching her clothing. The bra, at least, would have to be washed.

Erik sat in an armchair, simply watching her.

"Of course not! Why would I do a thing like that? I prefer not to have that connection exposed, since she happens to be a very effective security person. She has been following you for weeks, and she has done so very discreetly -- you never noticed her constant presence in your life until now. She is an eighth-degree black belt and handles firearms very well indeed."

"And I thought _Brandon_ had been hired by you," said Christine, rolling her eyes. "I´m sorry I underestimated you. I had no idea that you´d been planning to have Carla arrested all this time."

"That is not completely true," said Erik, his fingers toying with one of Christine´s hairclips. "If she had left you in peace, then I might have been charitable."

"But she didn´t, and you arranged to entrap both Carla and Brandon – and here I am with my ridiculous idea…"

"It was by no means ridiculous, my love," insisted Erik with such vehemence that his graceful fingers nearly dropped the hairclip. "You had every right to avenge yourself, and your plan dovetailed perfectly with mine.

"Christine," he added, his voice urgent, "Do you need further proof to understand how perfectly matched we are?"

She deflected his intensity. "I didn´t even get to see what happened! Is it true that everyone in the lobby saw him?"

"Of course! You were inspired, my love! He has been charged with indecent exposure, among other things."

Erik was beside her now, ostensibly to hand her the hairclip, but she knew what he sought. His arms were around her in a heartbeat, his breath hungry against her neck.

"Erik?" she asked, hoping for one more answer before he stole reason away.

"Hmmm?" he purred, his chin rough against her skin as he nuzzled her neck.

"You told Carla that the drug in the vial would make a man crazy for her," said Christine.

"No," murmured Erik, and he nipped at her flesh with his incisors.

She stifled a moan, but kept her wits about her.

"No?"

He sighed and shifted her in his arms so that he was looking into her eyes.

"You will remember that I told her that a man would respond to her in the manner that she _deserves,_" he clarified.

"And this particular drug induces laughter…so she deserves to be laughed at?" persisted Christine. "Okay, I understand that…but what about the other vial? You said it would produce the opposite effect."

"Exactly: nonstop crying," supplied Erik.

"So, how did you know she would pick up the one which causes the laughter?"

"I didn´t," said Erik.

Christine looked at him.

"Christine, I have been acquainted with Miss Forleo a good many years, and I can honestly say that, when it comes to _her, _one does not know whether to laugh or to cry."

* * *

Erik attached himself to Christine now with the air of a man who would brook no arguments. Christine, for her part, was not inclined to run from him. She had missed him during their short time apart, and their latest adventure together seemed to have bound them together in a new type of intimacy. _Three types of intimacy – of the heart, mind, and body. Our hearts shared a single purpose long ago, and now it´s clear that Erik and I can meet on a mental level. Now, what remains…?_

As Erik and Christine entered the hallway on their way to dinner, they were met by Jillian Blount. Erik quickly introduced the two women.

"Thank you for all you´ve done for me," Christine said, "especially dealing with that Brandon creep!"

She was unable to suppress a shudder as she said this, and added, "He was too weird. He kept looking at my chest, and doing this _thing _with his arms and neck…"

"Oh, he´s really proud of his muscles, Christine," Jillian explained, smiling contemptuously. "I´ve known a million guys like that one, and they´re all the same. I know for a fact that if you go through his gym bag, you´ll find steroids. Too bad he didn´t bring some here for the cops to see. I wonder if he deals?"

"He does," said Erik, "on a minor level."

Christine glanced at Erik, surprised and somewhat unsettled by the amount of information to which he was privy. He noticed, and his arm tightened around her.

Jillian smiled, and Christine observed that the smile did not reach her eyes, which were as hard as gemstones. Bitter experience had rendered her shockproof, and it was clear in her face and in her bearing.

"So, Mr. D," Jillian was saying now, "I suppose I get the night off?"

"Of course. You and your team will probably have the next few days off. I shall be with Christine."

* * *

"Two days, Christine," said Erik as they dined. "Two days without you! We will make up for lost time, then. Barely a day remains, and you will need your rest, of course. Tomorrow I shall take you home with me. Pity that you have a performance on Thursday evening…"

"Wait, wait, wait…back up!" said Christine, nearly choking as she washed her food down with a too-quick gulp of Merlot. "You´re planning on taking me _home _with you? You and what army?"

Erik delivered her a wolfish smile.

"I don´t believe I´ll need assistance."

"Well, how about consent? What about _that_? I happen to have a ride home, already! I´m going back with Meg!"

"Have you seen Miss Giry lately?" asked Erik insouciantly, his fingers picking delicately at crumbs on the tablecloth.

"Well, not since yesterday, really," Christine admitted, her face beginning to flush.

"She is immersed in a romance of her own now – rather a sweet one; it seems the young – er, young _man -- _has come to his senses."

"So? We´re supposed to drive back together, at least!"

"I believe that three´s a bit of a crowd. She will be driving back with her young man. Your guardian will return accompanied by Miss Blount, and you and I…"

"My _guardian_? Auntie Val isn´t here!"

Erik responded by _making himself visible_ – Christine never understood how he managed to blend into the background or stand out almost at will – and waving briefly and discreetly to someone who had just entered the room. Christine turned and looked – it was Auntie Val, who was now approaching them at a brisk pace. She was carrying a binder.

"_There _you are!" she nearly sang, as Erik, who had risen, pulled out a chair for her.

She smiled at Erik, then clucked her tongue and waggled a finger at Christine.

"Imagine your running off like that without telling anybody first, especially your fiancé! And such an understanding young man as he is! He _insisted _on my letting you alone, you know – 'She wants peace and quiet,' he said. Well, then," she continued, looking at Erik, "May I show her my ideas _now?_"

"By all means," responded Erik. "We would be delighted to see what you have in mind."

Gemma opened her binder. "Now, there are several dresses which I think Christine should see, first of all, and then I have the fabric swatches. And look at this needle lace!"

She held a broad swath of finest ivory lace against Christine´s cheek.

"I…" started Christine, her eyes wide with shock. The wedding, which she had been confident she had put off, was back with a vengeance.

"Beautiful," commented Erik, his eyes aglow. He took the lace and held it against Christine´s other cheek, then covered her hair with it, before withdrawing it to inspect the handwork more closely.

"Of course, I should tell you how much that lace costs per yard…" started Gemma, but Erik held up a polite hand.

"I have told you that money is no matter, and I will not permit its crass intrusion into our plans. I believe that beauty is the object of this, is it not, Christine?"

"I´d rather give the money to the food bank and elope," muttered Christine.

"Christine!" exclaimed Gemma, shocked.

Yet Erik smiled, the light in his eyes conveying his approval.

"Splendid! The hungry will dine like kings on our wedding day -- I will make sure of that!" he said. "Now, the only thing we need is a date for this elopement. Is next week too distant?"

Auntie Val, who had been in the joyous process of planning a wedding, looked visibly deflated.

"Now, now," said Erik, his voice musical as ever, "Look at the happy couple entering just now."

The women turned to see Meg and Raoul searching for the maître d'; they had entered hand-in-hand, and they smiled at each other as they conversed.

"Do you honestly believe, Gemma, that there is not a wedding for you to plan?"


	19. Chapter 19

**I am so grateful, as always, to all those who have taken the time and trouble to leave a review. Thank you so much for the feedback! It makes my day.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

The fallen leaves scattered and swirled behind the Ferrari as Erik drove, his foot barely pressing the accelerator. He had chosen to take secondary roads back to the city, and Christine could not help but marvel at the irony of using a high-end sports car for a leisurely day trip.

The rustic scenery slipped by, and clouds gathered; a cold front was on its way, heralding an early change of season. Within the car, Erik glanced at Christine and adjusted the heat. His conversation had been light and relaxing, but she knew that he would eventually turn to more serious subjects. The storm was approaching.

"This is not a very comfortable car," he commented, "since its sole raison d'être involves speed. I should like to travel with you without the pressures and demands of time. Why, Christine, did you not speak with me before embarking on this trip?" he asked in bitter tones.

"I needed time alone, to think and to reflect," muttered Christine, aware of how ridiculous her explanation seemed in light of recent events.

"You _cannot _be alone," Erik snapped. "If the world was hostile to you before I found you, things are worse now. The world knows who you are now, and who loves you. Was responsible behaviour too much to ask of you, given that you are aware of this situation?"

"Nobody knew me at the lodge, and we were registered under Meg´s name, anyway," Christine responded. "And if the world has been hostile to me, it´s been partly because you and Carla _did _find me several years ago!"

The minute the words were out of her mouth, Christine was sorry she had spoken them. She knew that Erik regretted his behaviour at their very first meeting, and she had an idea how much. Yet the memory of the coldness and hatred in his eyes on that evening still haunted her and led her to doubt him. If he were ever to look at her that way again, it would destroy her. The very thought of it terrified her.

She dared a glance at Erik now, and she saw that he had gone white. He had picked up speed now, and they were fairly flying into the storm.

Rain started to pelt the windshield of the car, and thunder rolled, but there was silence within. As they sped on, Christine gathered her courage once more.

"Erik, I´m sorry; I didn´t mean to mention …_that._ But you´re just a little pushy sometimes, in case you haven´t noticed! It´s not that I don´t love being with you – I _do_. I need time to myself, though, sometimes. Tonight, for example! I´d like you to take me home to Auntie Val´s," she finished, and she angled herself discreetly so that she could see his reaction in the rearview mirror.

Instead of the scowl she had expected, Erik´s countenance registered a sudden sadness. Christine turned to look at him directly now, worried. _Oh, Erik, if you only knew how much I do love you!_

As if he could hear her thoughts, Erik looked at her. As he did so, he braked, downshifted, and pulled the Enzo off the road. He let the engine idle.

"_That _look," he said, "is all I need from you. That look in your eyes. I know you, Christine – I know you very well, and I know that you love me. I only wish you would let me _enjoy_ it! Your heart has given me something which your mind wishes to deny me. We could be married tomorrow, or even tonight! _Why _are you so stubborn?_ Why _do you refuse to give in?"

"Because people change. You didn´t love me when I was a skinny, unattractive nobody, did you? Now things have changed and for some reason you find me lovable. How long will it be before maybe you just stop loving me one day? Passion doesn´t last! Love becomes friendship at best, and at worst, something I´d rather not say. I may be young and naïve, but I´m not totally stupid! I need time to know whether I want to take the risk!"

Christine wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands as she spoke. The hated tears were starting, and if it had hurt her pride to bare her heart to Erik, it hurt more to cry in front of him. _When was the last time I cried?_ _Oh, I remember: when Papa died…_ Something like a knot had loosened within her. She breathed deeply and bit her lip, resisting.

She had been afraid that Erik would murmur sweet comforts, hold her, treat her as a child. Instead, he went about treating her wounds with reason, her hand within his.

"You do not know me, Christine – oh, there are certain things you do understand about me, but you do not understand my heart. You know it well enough to be frightened by the strength of its affection, but you know nothing of its tenacity. I am not like other men, Christine. I have been through many different Hells, and whatever weaknesses I might once have possessed were burned away long ago. Do not underestimate me.

"I have broken minds before, my love, and the temptation to simply cause you to forget – to forget our first meeting completely – has always existed, but I shall never yield to it. The temptation to guide your mind has always been strong, but I have resisted. I want your mind as it is – frustrating, fractious, obstinate…" he paused, a hint of a smile playing about his lips as Christine mumbled her protests, "…fascinating, and endearing.

"Your heart is another thing. I shall never forget the day it broke through your will and gave itself to me, unfettered by the doubts with which your mind torments you. Nothing has ever been more precious to me, and precious it will remain. Nothing will ever change that, ever.

"Your fears have no foundation whatsoever, and even if you refuse to accept this as true, it is indeed the truth. Must I continue to be patient while you continue to tilt against shadows? I am not a saint, Christine, and I need you. I need you now, and I shall always need you…"

"And you want children," she responded. _Since we´re exorcising fears…_

"I should like that, but if you do not wish for the same, I will not insist."

"Just like that? That´s it? No reproaches? No regrets?" Christine felt a certain shame about asking these questions – she loved children, but she could not resist the urge to test Erik.

"It is _you _I wish to marry. I had imagined you would like children some day, but if you should choose not to have children, I could never reproach you for it. Not all women want children…" he trailed off, his eyes distant.

_You´re thinking of your mother, aren´t you? _Christine did not dare to voice this thought, but she hurried to soothe Erik.

"No, it isn´t that I don´t want children, Erik…it´s just that I don´t want them _right away…_and maybe I don't want nine or ten…"

Erik fairly glowed. "Oh, I think about six should be sufficient, unless some of them turn out to be twins – in which case I would ask for more, for variety´s sake, you know…"

"Beast!" Christine spat, laughing.

"Temptress!"

The storm had lightened, and Erik put the car in gear. Soon, as Christine had requested, he delivered her to her own door. She noted the regret in his eyes as he slowly turned to leave her, and she felt a pang.

"Erik? Care to stay for dinner?"

* * *

"Such a nice young man," Auntie Val commented, for perhaps the sixth time, as Christine finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. "And how he _hated _to leave! Why, it´s nearly midnight!"

"Yes, we´ll all be tired in the morning…well, _he _won´t; he´s never tired," said Christine, putting away the dish towel. "Auntie Val, I was thinking. Erik and I are at loggerheads because I don´t want to marry right away, but he does."

"That does seem to represent a slight problem," Auntie Val allowed.

"He complains because I´m not with him every minute of the day. Isn´t it ridiculous?"

"He´s a young man in love. It´s very sweet."

"Well, I´ve decided to fight fire with fire, Auntie Val," said Christine.

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn´t know it yet, but tomorrow I´m moving in with him."

* * *

Nadir hummed to himself contentedly as he sat in his usual armchair. He was much more relaxed than usual, and he had one leg slung over the arm of the chair as he puffed away, wreathed in smoke.

"Nadir…" Erik´s voice seemed emerge from a sort of aural fog.

"Hmmm…? Oh, Erik…hello! Didn´t see you…fancy not seeing you!" Nadir managed to murmur happily, then lapsed into a weak giggle.

"Nadir," Erik´s voice continued.

_He´s still here?_ "Hmmm?"

"What the _hell _are you smoking?"

"Oh…_this!_ Hmmm. Some type of cannabis, I think."

Nadir failed to stifle another giggle. Erik´s eyes seemed to float towards him out of the dark.

"Name and address of the supplier?"

"Rose…the loveliest, most incomparable of roses. 'My luve is like a red, red, rose…'" he sighed happily.

"The _artist?_"

"The same. She likes my hands," Nadir murmured, as Erik snatched the joint from his fingers and threw it into the fireplace. It sat atop a pile of logs and kindling which were waiting to be lit.

"That was _mine,_" Nadir protested feebly. "Give it back!"

"No. I believe you´ve had quite enough, Nadir. It could stunt your growth, you know."

Nadir reacted by throwing his head back and cackling loudly and gracelessly. Erik stood regarding him for a minute, his arms folded; then, he strode to the fireplace and hurled a fireball into it which incinerated the joint completely and set the logs aflame.

"My word!" exclaimed Nadir, rediscovering his reflexes and jumping. "Why can´t you just light a match, as everyone else does?"

Erik stared into the fire contemplatively, ignoring Nadir completely now.

"_Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?_

_Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior_," Erik said into the flames, his voice soft and musical.

"What? You don´t hate her, do you?" said Nadir.

"Never! Yet I loathe her indecision. I should simply arrange things with a priest and steal her away."

"And convince the priest that she means to say 'yes'? That will make for a circus of a wedding, indeed!" said Nadir. He was completely alert now; the effects of the joint had been fleeting. He sat up in the armchair.

"Did your excursion into the mountains go badly?"

"No, not at all. Progress, of a kind, has been made, but as you see, I am alone."

"Only for the moment, my friend. You´ll see. It won´t be for long."

"Would that that were true!"

* * *

Christine arrived at Erik´s study the following morning bearing an enormous teddy bear, which she dropped into Nadir´s armchair.

Erik stared, and Christine enjoyed his confused glances.

"It´s the teddy bear my papa won for me at a fair, years ago," she supplied. "Do you like it?"

Erik was silent, and although it was clear he did _not _care much for the toy, he turned his gaze on Christine and scrutinized her. It was evident that he thought something might be wrong with her. She enjoyed the moment, fingering the owl on her charm bracelet. _Put an owl on my bracelet, will you, Erik? Well, I´ll put a teddy bear in your study!_

"I´m moving in with you," she announced blithely, after she had tired sufficiently of Erik´s bewilderment. "The rest of my stuff will be delivered later. You don´t mind if I sleep in the same bedroom as last time, do you?"

He folded his arms and continued to stare at her, this time regarding her with complete suspicion.

"Oh, please don´t look at me that way, Erik! I mean what I say! I´m exhausted from last night, and it´s really ridiculous that we should be apart when we love each other. It´s funny that this is the one solution to our disagreement that we never discussed, isn´t it? But it´s really very practical!"

"You would _shack up _with me without benefit of matrimony, Christine? I have taken great pains to protect your reputation from malicious slander. _That _is why I have never suggested such an arrangement!" he exclaimed; his hands were fisted at his sides.

"Erik, you know perfectly well that people will talk about me anyway. Nothing you can do will prevent that! Anyway, since you announced our engagement, people _expect_ us to be…well, kind of close! I have no living relatives who would be offended by the idea of this, either, and it´s okay with Auntie Val…"

"_Marriage,_" growled Erik.

"Not yet," responded Christine. "I want us to live together for a while first. Then I´ll let you know when I´m ready…for _that_."

Longing fought with something else in Erik´s eyes, and Christine waited.

"You are not safe with me," he said quietly.

"Well, Erik, we´re going to end up in bed sooner or later," Christine said, feigning a nonchalance which she did not feel.

"You are deluding yourself if you think that I would abandon you afterwards," Erik snapped.

_So, he understands my fears._

"I´d like to see for myself," Christine answered.

"Oh, you will…you will, my love," Erik murmured. His hand hovered, trembling, in midair, as if he meant to stroke her cheek, and the look in his eyes frightened Christine slightly, but he kept his distance.

* * *

"I can´t believe you´re doing this," said Meg as she watched Christine´s boxes arrive. "How are we going to do girl things with Mr. DeJongh watching us like a spider?"

"Well, if we want to go out, then you and I go out together," said Christine matter-of-factly. "I don´t see why _that_ should be complicated."

Meg snorted. "You´re making the same mistake again…thinking things will be simple with that man. Even _I _know better than that."

"Well, that´s the beauty of moving in with him. If things don´t work out, I´ll just go back to Auntie Val´s."

"Oh, right. That would just thrill _him,_" said Meg, rolling her eyes. "And another thing – what about birth control?"

"Meg!"

"Don´t 'Meg!' me! You´re walking right into the lion´s den. He´s been wanting to jump your bones for months now, and it would so totally destroy our girl time together if he got you pregnant. I can see it now: you, me, and little Baby DeJongh in a stroller going through the malls together…"

Christine winced. "Don´t worry. I´ve got it covered."

"Well, I sure hope so."

"How are things going with you and Raoul?" asked Christine, all too happy to change the subject.

Meg scowled. "Scary. Somehow his auntie has the idea that we´re headed for the altar. She´s scaring both of us to death, and Raoul has already called to cancel our Friday night date. Just when he was becoming human and behaving himself, too! Now, I _wonder_ where his Auntie Val got the idea that things might be so serious between us?"

Christine was silent for a minute; then, she directed their conversation onto other subjects.

* * *

She performed to a full house once more, marvelling at how much more relaxed she was becoming onstage. She sang, as ever, with Erik in her thoughts.

The applause, the ovations, the roses, the bustle and noise afterwards backstage – all these arrived, and they were followed by exhaustion. She sighed. This time, she would accompany the other cast members up front and meet with reporters and the public. Mr. Khan had spoken with her about the need to do this, and she gratefully accepted Jeremy´s proffered arm – they would appear before the press together.

"No," said Erik, appearing suddenly and gently removing Christine´s hand to his own arm. "She requires rest now."

Jeremy nodded and turned to leave alone, but Christine tried to pull away from Erik.

"I need to go meet and greet – Mr. Khan told me so," she said, but Erik held her firmly.

"You need your rest, Christine. I shall speak with Nadir later."

"But, Erik…"

"No. You have been an angel tonight, and no one should ask more of you."

His voice lulled her, and she permitted him to guide her to his home – _our home_, she corrected herself, leaning slightly on him. He glanced down at her, smiling, and he hummed a snatch of the Wedding March.

"Aaargh!" reacted Christine, scowling tiredly.

"Don´t grunt, my love, it doesn´t become you!" said Erik brightly, and he escorted her into the bedroom, then exited quickly.

_Well! _Fatigued and grateful for the sudden privacy, Christine shed her costume, removed her makeup, and pulled on an old t-shirt. Slipping into bed, she drifted, halfway in sleep and halfway in dreams.

She sensed Erik only slightly as he slipped into bed with her and, spooned against her, held her in his arms. _My Christine…_

* * *

When Nadir entered Erik´s study an hour later, he found that the fire had nearly gone out, and that there was no sign of Erik. He looked at the teddy bear sitting in his chair with surprise.

"Who´s been sitting in _my _chair?" he murmured, and sat the bear carefully on the floor, its back to the chair. The room seemed to have changed somehow, but he could not put his finger on exactly what the changes were.

Nadir shrugged and, unfolding the newspaper, scanned the headlines as he lit his first cigarette.


	20. Chapter 20

**A million thanks to all those who have so kindly taken the trouble to review. You make my day! **

**Also, it´s my duty now to remind everyone that this story is rated M for a darned good reason. **

**Anyhow, warnings aside, I really hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

* * *

"So, how´s the shack-up going?" asked Meg one day as she and Christine enjoyed lunch out together. Twelve days had elapsed since Christine had moved in with Erik.

"Fine," responded Christine, but she could not avoid a sigh.

"What? Is the bloom off the rose?" asked Meg.

"No, it´s not that. Everything´s wonderful – really! Except maybe for the booby traps…"

"I´m sorry? _Booby traps?"_

"Well, yes. Erik has his house pretty well-defended, and he´s tried to show me where all the switches are, but every now and then I´ll set one off."

"Set one off? Well, you´re sitting right here in front of me, so I trust that these traps aren´t lethal?"

"Oh, they really are – if you´re not the one pushing the button. How can I explain things? Look, I´ll give you an example. One day, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner – you know, as kind of a surprise for Erik. So, I had some potatoes beginning to boil, and I groped around for the button to turn on the exhaust fan. Well, I found a button, all right, but it wasn´t what I thought it was. When I pressed it, the door to the kitchen slammed shut and locked itself!"

"Well, that´s not very bad – nobody would get hurt that way…" started Meg.

"You haven´t heard the rest. I couldn´t work the lock, so I was stuck in the kitchen until Erik came home from his business meeting. He opened the door for me, and then´s when I saw the wall across the hallway from the kitchen door. _It was full of holes!_ So, yes, somebody could get hurt. And should I mention the flashlights?"

"Flashlights?"

"I went into one of the rooms that Erik doesn´t use much – kind of exploring, you know – and I saw a flashlight. I thought to myself, 'How handy!' and, as I was about to see if it worked, Erik came swooping down and snatched it out of my hand. His face was white as a sheet! The next thing I know, he´s going through the house like a lunatic, picking up every flashlight in the house and putting them all in a box. I guess he´s destroyed them all by now…"

"Oh, my God! They were probably packed with explosives! I´m surprised he hasn´t blown himself up with one of those things by now," said Meg, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes alive with interest.

"Blow himself up with a flashlight? No, not Erik. He doesn´t need them," said Christine, picking at her salad with her fork.

"What do you mean, he doesn´t need them?"

"Erik doesn´t need flashlights. I don´t know how, but he can see in the dark – really well!"

Meg smiled and leaned forward even more, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"I bet that´s really good at night for whenever you two…you know…?"

"I wouldn´t know," said Christine sourly, stabbing at her salad.

"Wouldn´t know? What do you mean, wouldn´t know?"

Christine was silent, and she continued to rearrange her lettuce.

"You mean," said Meg slowly, "you two haven´t …?"

"No!" snapped Christine. "We _haven´t_!"

Meg straightened and stared across the table, assessing Christine.

"…But you _want _to, right?"

"Of course I want to!" spat Christine, and then lowered her voice as she began to fight tears. "It´s just that _he _doesn´t…"

"_Bullshit!_" Meg exploded. "Believe me, I´m _never _wrong about this – I know lust, and I know it well, girlfriend, and I see it in Mr. D.´s eyes every time he looks at you. The man is in a permanent state of arousal, for gosh sakes! He has _got _to be suffering, and a lot. So, the question is, why hasn´t he jumped you yet, when he´s dying to?"

Christine shrugged. "I really have no idea. You´re sure he´s…?"

"Positive. Or haven´t you noticed it? He must get close to you now and then?"

Christine blushed.

"Ah-hah! You see? So, then! I bet it´s the marriage thing. He probably wants to wed you before he beds you. Could that be it?"

Christine glowered indignantly. "Well, if _he _can wait that long, so can I!"

"_Christine! _What kind of a shrinking violet are you? I can _see_ you´re suffering. If Mr. DeJongh wants to make himself suffer, that´s his business, but he shouldn´t be doing it to _you! _Haven´t you thought about taking the initiative?"

"Well, I´ve tried to _look _seductive, which is kind of hard with the clothes he bought for me…"

"No, no no! I mean you should cut to the chase. Have you ever thought of sneaking into his bed at night?"

"He never sleeps, and he comes to bed with _me_ once he´s sure I´m asleep. He just holds me, though…"

"Wow! That´s romantic," said Meg, laughing, "especially for a guy with a hard-on! Look, you obviously have to bring out the heavy artillery. Got any nice lingerie?"

"Um, yeah…"

"Well, use it! Sneak up on him sometime when he has his guard down, and make sure you´re wearing practically nothing! Stick your boobs in his face, if you have to!"

"Oh, Meg," sighed Christine, considering. "Are you sure it will work?"

"I´ll bet any amount of money you want, Missy!"

* * *

"I´m surprised that you deign to have lunch with me these days, old man, when I consider who you have waiting at home for you!" commented Nadir as he reviewed the wine list at the upscale _Marlon´s _restaurant.

"She´s having lunch with Miss Giry – otherwise, we _wouldn´t _be here together at all," muttered Erik, drumming the tablecloth with restless fingers.

"I´ll ignore my wounded feelings if you select the wine for us," said Nadir, handing the list to Erik. "And tell me, would you, what you think we accomplished at the meeting we attended this morning? Old Watkins is a proper windbag, isn´t he? And a con artist. What do you think of those figures he trotted out?"

Erik merely stared at the wine list without replying. Nadir sighed and changed the subject.

"I really must tell you how much more agreeable your household has become since Christine installed herself. I do believe you seem positively…dare I say it?...happy…"

"I _am _happy!" Erik snapped.

"As your tone and bearing would suggest. No, no, I know that you are happy, but there is something _bothering _you, Erik, and I wonder if you would care to unburden yourself?"

Erik continued to glare at the wine list.

"I take it that no wedding date has been set?"

Nadir had finally touched a nerve. Erik looked at him now, and his eyes seemed somewhat wild.

"She refuses to set a date. She lives with me now, and I am the happiest man alive, but I am miserable at the same time! She taunts me with her presence, but she refuses to make it irrevocably permanent. Do you have any idea what she is doing to me now? Do you? She leaves certain buttons of her blouse unbuttoned, and she has shortened the skirts I gave her! I have had to leave the room at times simply to maintain my self-control. She has no idea what effect she has on me!

"I am a gentleman, Nadir – a gentleman! How can she expect me to continue to mind myself around her if she behaves like _that_?"

Nadir suppressed a smile.

"Forgive me for reminding you, but I have seen you on the verge of deflowering the young lady several times, if you´ll forgive my bluntness. Why do you have compunctions about it now, just when she´s moved in with you?"

Erik hesitated.

"I was wrong to try to force her into intimacy. At times, I have been desperate. That is my only excuse. Now that I have hope, now that she is actually _with _me, I must treat her as she deserves, with respect," he said softly.

"You _are _going about things in a rather backwards way, aren´t you?" said Nadir. "I should think that by moving in with you, she now _expects _intimacy…"

"She expects it with the resignation of a lamb being led to the slaughter! I warned her that she is not safe with me, yet she still toys with me…"

"Erik, be reasonable. She loves you! She´s not _resigned _to your attentions, she´s _hoping_ for them. I have observed you both during our evenings together, and she´s flirting with you constantly. She´s timid about it, of course…"

Erik snorted.

"So timid she refuses to discuss a wedding date!" he said with some bitterness.

"Erik, have I ever mentioned that I have considerable experience with women? Take my advice – strike while the iron is hot! I have had more lady friends want to set a wedding date after an evening of brilliant lovemaking…"

"Yet I see you are still an old bachelor, and you haunt my hearth in the evenings," observed Erik.

"True. But I don´t visit you _every _evening, and if I still remain a bachelor, it´s because I´ve grown too old and set in my ways to tolerate life in common with another person. You know, Erik, sometimes I´m quite jealous of you. You are capable of loving one woman so deeply that it´s frightening, I know, but it must be rather exhilarating, too."

Erik looked surprised. "You _do _understand, then," he said quietly.

* * *

There was no performance that evening, since it was a Monday, and Erik spent an hour singing love-duets with Christine after dinner. He continued at the piano after they had finished singing, picking at the keys with a slight scowl, and, taking off his coat, he fetched some mutes and a tuning wrench – he was ready to tune the piano. Christine seized her opportunity and quietly left the room, prepared to put Meg´s suggested plan into motion.

Christine entered the closet and examined the lingerie that Erik had bought her. She selected the most risqué item she could find, which was a black lace teddy, and she observed herself in the full-length mirror. _Not bad, _she thought. _In fact, very good. So much for wearing t-shirts to bed! _Her breasts were clearly, erotically visible through the lace, and the soft fabric curved around her exposed thighs, setting them off to perfection. _Now for my hair! _She let it fall, loose, in softly perfumed waves around her shoulders.

She listened carefully now. Erik had been absorbed with his task for a half-hour now, and she could still hear the sounds of strings being adjusted and keys tested.

_Now or never! _She gathered her courage and walked, barefoot, down the hallway, happy that the plush rugs silenced her footsteps. An eternity seemed to pass before she reached the door to the study. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

Erik was in his shirtsleeves, his sleeves rolled up, and he was applying a tuning wrench to a pin with practiced care. Christine forgot her nervousness, lost as she was in her admiration of his figure. Her eyes traveled from his long legs to his shoulders, then his face, before she realized that he was staring at her, too.

The _something _which always frightened her was there burning in his eyes now – this time with more strength and urgency than ever. A loud metallic pop and roaring reverberation brought them both back to earth, then – Erik had twisted the pin too forcefully and had broken a string.

"Now, Erik, _that _wasn´t like you at all," murmured Nadir´s voice from behind his newspaper. Christine had not noticed him, absorbed as she was by Erik. _He must have come to visit while I was in the bedroom! _She fled, slamming the door behind her.

Roaring a curse, Erik turned towards Nadir.

"Out!" he shouted, looming over him and pointing towards the door.

"I beg your pardon?" responded Nadir, lowering his newspaper.

"Out! You have a home, don´t you! Well, go to it! Leave! Now!"

"Well, now, that´s not very civil of you, Erik," groused Nadir, stubbing out his cigarette and folding his newspaper. "I´ll have you know I had just reached the financial section!"

"OUT!"

"Very well, very well," Nadir said, his voice conveying a type of injured resignation. As he shuffled out the door, Erik hurtled in the opposite direction in pursuit of Christine.

* * *

_This was a very bad idea_, Christine thought, panic seizing her. Her courage had vanished entirely, and in its place a type of panic had set in. Following her first instinct, she took refuge in the bedroom closet. The lights were off, and both the room and its closet were in complete darkness. She hid in a corner behind some dresses, doing her best to still her breathing. She could hear her own heartbeat. As the minutes passed, it finally slowed. She dared to hope that Erik was still in the study – that, perhaps, he had forgotten about her now and was chatting with Nadir.

_Christine…_

_No! _His voice seemed to reverberate within her mind, soft, beautiful, hypnotic…

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"Christine…"

This time the voice whispered just beside her left ear, and she jumped and groped her way out of the closet. The darkness within the bedroom was as complete as the darkness within the closet. She tried to still her rapid heartbeat and breathing, and she listened.

"You don´t really think you can escape me now, do you?"

He was at her side, yet she flailed and felt nothing. She bolted towards the door, but she slammed into him; his grip was firm, hot, and unyielding, and he pressed her against himself. She could see his eyes now, and they glowed down at her with a type of eagerness, or hunger, or need. She could smell his skin – he had not exerted himself in the least, but he was sweating, and it was the musky, male-scented sweat of arousal. An eager hand explored her back, then descended to explore her buttocks and thighs. She could hear his labored breathing.

He kissed her, his evening growth of whiskers coarse and brutal against her skin, the edge of his mask pressing against her cheek. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she surrendered it to his explorations, She felt as if she were melting into him, as if she herself were liquid heat. Suddenly, she felt a jolt, and her knees went weak: Erik´s fingers had pushed aside the fabric covering her nether regions, and began a hungry exploration of her, searching and centering gradually, until she felt that her very being had melted into him.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, somehow without interrupting their kiss. Her hands were in his hair, his shoulders, exploring the width of his back. His mask was discarded without a second thought, and he broke the kiss to taste her flesh with his mouth, his teeth grazing her neck as he suckled. Christine heard a soft tearing noise – he was ripping the teddy to shreds, but she was beyond caring. She worked at his buttons, trying to remove his shirt, and he paused for a split-second, shedding it quickly, along with the rest of his clothing. He continued his assault on her flesh, his mouth moving along her breasts. Christine gasped beneath him, completely blind in the darkness of the bedroom. His breathing was more uneven, his scent filled her nostrils, and she could feel the coarse peppering of hair on his chest against her breasts as he kissed her once more.

She became aware of his arousal – of taut, soft flesh covering something hot and hard as iron, pushing against her leg. He parted her thighs with his hips, and Christine gasped as his fingers probed her once more, testing her for readiness, she knew. He was sweating profusely now. Something within Christine surfaced in her mind – _this is it, _it told her, and she nearly closed her legs as a reflex, but Erik forced them apart again. His probing fingers found liquid, and more liquid, then she felt something else at her opening. Its tip barely gained entry, and Erik´s hands were at either side of Christine´s head, his eyes – _the only thing she could see _– locked on hers. _Oh, how I want you! _was her last coherent thought, before she felt her flesh ripped apart, a sword-thrust of heat and pain shattering her. He had forced his way into her with one resolute thrust, and he remained thus for some seconds; he kissed her again, meanwhile, his tongue exploring her mouth insistently, and he pulled back and began to thrust rhythmically, the strength of his blows nearly shattering Christine.

_The pain!_

Oh, the pain – and the pleasure that came with it! As he continued, she stilled completely beneath him, trying to open more, to somehow yield more space, but he continued to fill her completely. He moaned his pleasure, increasing his rhythm, more excited now, and Christine felt the impossible tightness of her flesh enveloping his. It seemed to increase as his movements became more frenetic – _oh, the pain and pleasure of it! _Her nails dug into his back, seeking something to cling to in the maelstrom of his passion. One last, long, thrust – one which seemed to seek something within her very core – a shudder, a long, feral moan, and Erik rested, covering her body with his.

The darkness enveloped them both, and Christine could hear Erik´s breathing calm slowly. He did not move, but his eyes became visible once more. They gazed upon her peacefully now, and the love within them was unabashed.

"Erik?" she murmured. She felt a sudden need to hear his voice.

"My love," he responded, his voice like silk now. He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear as his kisses became bites.

"I swear to you that you have sealed your fate. My Christine! You are mine now, and you shall always be mine. Do you ache? Your body remembers me, now, even as your mind and heart will always remember me. I shall never let you go, wedding or no wedding…"

He continued to suckle and nip as he spoke.

"Need I tell you that I love you? Love is a poor word for what I feel for you, Christine, a poor word indeed."


	21. Chapter 21

**Blessings and graces on all those who have so kindly reviewed! Y´all truly rock.**

**Another long chapter, I´m afraid.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**Wintry sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, and Christine slowly awakened. The room was awash with a white light which diminished the red tones of the bedroom into a visual watercolour. It had snowed the night before, and she could see nothing but white beyond the translucence of the curtains.

She felt Erik´s arms around her, and she was aware of the tensed muscles of his forearms, the slight pressure of his hands, tapering to his fingers, which were quiet against her flesh. _He´s awake, then. Does he ever sleep?_

They were spooned together, his chest warm and solid against her back, and as she came to full awareness of her surroundings – _the snow, the white light _– memories of last night also emerged and interlaced with the morning images.

She imagined the world outside, the white flakes falling lazily down as, within, Erik had explored her, torn her apart, melded within her. The peace after their first joining was fleeting – Erik had taken her again, this time more insistently – roughly, really, and she felt a twinge in her flesh at the memory. He had spoken of love to her, but he had spoken, too, of things more carnal, and of jealousy. He had a great many memories of her which she had never realized -- what she had been wearing on certain days, and the need which had stirred within him at the sight of her.

No wonder he had wanted her to dress modestly.

He had even mentioned one occasion which she remembered vividly, because he had simply passed her in the hall that day on his way to a meeting. He had been accompanied by Nadir, and he had moved through the crowded corridor with an air of irritated ennui, never breaking his stride: people moved out of his way. Christine had smiled at both men, and Nadir had nodded and smiled back, but Erik had not seen her. Or so she had thought.

She blushed now to think of the reaction which his somber façade had hidden. His attentions had been so overwhelming, and his passion had been so frightening on the occasions when he had permitted his lustier feelings to show, that she had never dreamed that he had actually been _controlling _himself around her.

_Meg was so right…_

Erik had said her flesh would remember him, and he had not been mistaken. She felt a burning ache within her nether regions now which she was certain she would never forget. There was a stickiness of dried blood and more, too, and she thought longingly of water as she gazed through the curtains at the white outdoors.

Erik´s hands moved, stroking her tenderly. He needed her again – she could feel him pressed against her, but he moved to kiss her neck gently this time.

"I shall draw a bath for you," he murmured.

A series of kisses on her neck and on her shoulders; he was unmasked, and the love in his eyes burned in sharp relief against the dead ugliness of his mutilated flesh. Christine began to smile at him – something tender moved in her heart at the sight of him. As she shifted, she grimaced; her lower parts burned.

"I have salts which will help the pain," Erik murmured, reluctantly moving away from her.

And he was in control of himself once more.

* * *

In the bathroom, Christine looked in the mirror, shocked at the number of love bites covering her neck and body. When she examined her face, however, she was even more surprised. She looked….prettier somehow, as though last night had been good for her in some fundamental way. _I am loved, and every cell in my body knows it!_ The salts had worked wonders, and the pain she had felt was now merely a faint sting. She could actually walk now, and she was grateful.

* * *

"_Miss Daaé,_" Erik said as he escorted her into the study and presented her with breakfast. His bow had the exaggeration of sarcasm to it, and Christine´s sense of well-being evaporated instantly.

"What´s wrong?"

"What could possibly be wrong, _Miss _Daaé?" he asked pointedly, his eyes on hers. He seated himself across from her and shook out his napkin.

"It´s about a wedding again," groaned Christine, covering her face with her hands.

"_The _wedding, Christine. _Our _wedding! When, Christine?"

He sat and waited, his eyes on hers.

"_Why, _Erik, do you choose this exact moment to bring this subject up? Couldn´t we just chat, as we always do at breakfast?"

"As though nothing has passed between us? No, _look at me, _Christine! Last night was incomplete, and you know exactly why!"

"It seemed pretty complete to me! Why does it matter so much to you whether we´ve exchanged vows or not? There are divorced people all over the place, and they all once made solemn vows in front of rooms full of people. So, what does it matter if and when we get married?"

Erik´s eyes burned now with fury.

"_If_, Christine? How dare you give me 'if'? You made a promise to me, and no one breaks a promise to Erik! I do not play games, and I will not permit you to toy with me."

"I´m not _toying _with you, Erik! Yes, I will marry you, but, no, I don´t know when! I need time…"

"_Why _are you forcing me to wait, if marriage is indeed inevitable? I do not believe you have accepted this fact. You have moved in with me, thinking to put off my demand, and you have the consummate _gall _to believe that by permitting me to bed you, you will calm me. Do you really think, my love, that that was all that was needed? Oh, your flesh is delicious, Christine, it is exquisite indeed, but I still hunger, and in more ways than you think!

"_Why, _you ask, is marriage important? I shall _tell _you why! Is it not true that _you _would take your vow to me before God rather seriously?"

Christine was silent. It was true, but she resented the fact that he knew her so well.

"Now, tell me if it is not true that living with me represents a type of test – that, if something troubles you profoundly enough about us, you do not reserve the right to leave?"

"Erik, there just might be things that need working out, that´s all. For example, you want children, and you have a nursery established in this house – along with flashlights that explode and all other manner of booby traps! Honestly, Erik, have you ever heard of childproofing a house? How long would it take you to do that here? Two years, maybe?"

"That is an evasion, and I detest such tactics. You know perfectly well that one deals with such things after marriage," hissed Erik.

How could she tell him that she doubted her own senses and instincts? How could she tell Erik that his assurances of undying love were not enough to calm her fears?

"You haven´t even come up with the prenup for me to sign yet," Christine blurted out miserably. "How can we set a date if we haven´t negotiated that?"

Erik was completely still, down to his usually restless fingertips. She had succeeded in shocking him, and the silence was terrible to her. Finally, he spoke.

"_Damn _your foolish fears to the lowest circle of Hell! You _dare _to doubt me! A _prenuptial agreement_? You _dare _to think I would insult you with such a device? Let me tell you this clearly, Christine, because perhaps you have failed to grasp this fundamental truth: a marriage between us will end only with the death of one or both of us!"

"So you´d rather kill me than divorce me!" Christine snapped, refusing to yield.

"Kill _you_? What the _hell _do you take me for…?"

Erik rose suddenly, overturning the table. The china cups and teapot crashed to the floor along with it. Christine stood and backed away, clear of the disaster and as far away from Erik as she could manage.

"Am I interrupting something?" came Nadir´s voice. He had entered with a briefcase in one hand and a manila folder in the other, obviously expecting to get some work done. "Erik, I pulled out these copies of the contracts that were mentioned at the meeting yesterday, and …"

Erik continued to stare at Christine, but he held out his hand absently and accepted the manila folder. It burst into flames, and he threw it into the fireplace.

"I…believe I should perhaps leave and return at a more propitious time," said Nadir, surveying the broken china, the overturned table, and the file which was now burning merrily in the fireplace.

Christine tried to move past Nadir to the door, but Erik flew across the room and detained her. Nadir´s presence inhibited him somewhat, and he merely grasped her upper arm. "No," he hissed.

"Now, Erik, if Christine wishes to leave, you have no business keeping her," said Nadir.

Christine´s jaw dropped. She had never seen anyone dare to even speak with Erik when he became as frightening as he was at the moment.

Erik pointed towards Nadir, and he held something small and metallic in his hand.

"_No!_" exclaimed Christine, and Erik turned his complete attention to her as she tried to pull away from his grasp.

"Don´t worry, Christine," assured Nadir hurriedly. "He was just going to put me to sleep for a couple of hours. He does that every now and then…"

"You´re _joking_! Erik! How could you _do _such a thing to him?" gasped Christine.

"We have a doorbell, don´t we? _When _will he learn to use it?" He turned to Nadir. "_Why _have you not learned to use it?"

"Because, Erik," returned Nadir calmly, "if I were to use the doorbell, you would refuse to answer the door."

"Well, you must like having him around, or you´d have changed the locks by now, Erik," Christine opined.

"I believe that things have changed with your arrival, Christine," Nadir said gently. "Erik has ceased to be a bachelor."

"The entire problem, at the moment, is that I have _not _ceased to be a bachelor," snarled Erik, with a scathing look in Christine´s direction.

"Ah," said Nadir, surveying the broken china again. "So, it appears that I´ve interrupted your throes of frustration over _that. _Erik, you need to give Christine the time that she wants. She´ll learn to tolerate you sooner or later. I know _I _did."

"And all that without the incentive of a marriage proposal. Whatever have I done to deserve you, Nadir?" snarled Erik, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You ran everyone else off," he responded immediately. Christine giggled, and he smiled at her. Erik glowered.

"Look," said Christine, glancing at Erik nervously. "You two obviously have important business to discuss, and I think it might be time I did a bit of shopping. So, I´ll just look for Meg and see if she can go with me, okay?"

"You will return," said Erik. It was not a question or request.

Christine nodded and, retrieving her purse, made good her escape.

* * *

Meg had had rehearsal that morning, and she was still in leotards when Christine found her.

"Are you okay?" Christine asked, observing the dark circles under her eyes with worry.

"No," said Meg flatly. "Jerkface has decided, in his infinite wisdom, that somehow I´m to blame for giving his aunt the idea that we might marry. He´s gone all paranoid on me, and we ended up fighting last night. I told him where to go, and that we´re finished. He let me go."

"Oh, Meg…" groaned Christine, enfolding her in a hug. "I´m so sorry…"

"No, no…don´t be. You know we´ve never gotten along perfectly. I´ve always had my doubts about Raoul. He´s just plain immature, and I don´t want to deal with it. And he´s cheap, too."

"Cheap?" asked Christine, surprised.

"We had a fight over tips. I try to pay my own part of the tab when we go out, you know, but sometimes he pays for the meal and I leave the tip. Well, Mr. Deep Pockets decided that I was leaving too much of a tip, and we got into a fight over it."

"Really?"

"Really. He thinks tipping ten percent is just fine."

"You´re kidding! Yeah, he really _is _cheap, isn´t he?" offered Christine.

"I knew you´d see things my way. Look, are you busy tonight?"

Christine thought of Erik, and realized that yes, she was busy – he would see to it that she stayed with him, safe and sound and extremely supervised. Defiance reared its ugly head.

"No," she answered.

"Good," said Meg. "Because we´re going to spend the day together, get fixed up, and go wild tonight. We both need this, honey. Or, at least, I do. Come with me?"

"Anywhere, Meg."

"Awesome! Because we´re going to Dr. No´s -- you know, the place with the sexiest male strippers in town."

* * *

When they arrived, Dr. No´s was full of people. The air was filled with a type of steamy warmth and expectation, and Christine noticed that there was at least one "bachelorette" party in full swing. Another group of older women, obviously co-workers, sported pink t-shirts which read "Goodbye Charlene!" The sounds were of laughter, fun, and high spirits, and the smells were all of spirits as well.

Christine and Meg ordered whiskey sours and found a table near the middle of the room, where they perched on their stools and shouted conversation over the general din.

"Are you going to turn your phone off?" yelled Christine, as Meg squelched an incoming call for what seemed the hundredth time that day. It seemed that Meg wished to torture Raoul – she would not turn her phone off, but she would not take his calls, either.

Christine had certainly turned _her _phone off. After the quarrel that morning, she had not wished to tell Erik that not only would she not be home for lunch, but that dinner was off the agenda as well. She _had _sent him a text message stating that she would be home sometime after ten that evening. Thatwas when she had decided that it would be a good idea to turn her phone off completely.

Meg snorted as she read a text message, then stuffed her phone into her purse.

"So, you gonna have another drink, Christine? Come on, you´re always so serious! You only live once, you know, and who knows how much time you have left before Mr. D. finally altars your state?"

Christine winced and downed her drink, accepting another one from a scantily-clad waiter. He winked at her as she tipped him, glancing at her exposed legs with obvious approval; Christine was wearing a new miniskirt that she had bought that afternoon. Her old one had disappeared mysteriously from her closet.

"_Why _do you always use Erik´s social title, Meg? Why is he always 'Mr. DeJongh' or 'Mr. D.' to you? Why don´t you call him 'Erik,' at least around me?"

Meg managed to look shocked. "Are you kidding? I wouldn´t dare!"

Christine giggled. The whiskey was beginning to put everything in perspective – life was now a great comedy.

"What, Meg, are you afraid of Erik?" she laughed.

"Absolutely terrified," she admitted. "But everyone with any sense is, Christine. You have agreed to marry the coldest, most ruthless man in the country – he can freeze you with a look! So, tell me, how is he in bed?"

Christine´s subsequent mirth left her unable to speak for several minutes.

"How did you know about _that_?" she gasped, finally.

"Well, by looking at your neck, for one thing," answered Meg. "Most people do not put makeup all over their necks these days! Anyway, I take it that you followed old Meg´s advice. Was it worth it?"

"Yeah," said Christine, halfway serious now. "Another whiskey sour! I need another!"

"That´s the spirit!" shouted Meg approvingly.

Whatever she was about to say next was drowned out by the sudden roaring beat of the club´s bass speakers.

_Boomp...boomp...boomp…BOOMP…boomp…boomp…boomp…BOOMP…_The speakers thrummed, and a well-built man wearing a dickey that looked as if it had once tried to be a tuxedo shirt and failed appeared on the stage in the middle of the room. He had almost nothing else on besides black briefs and elegant white cuffs with cufflinks. His arms were bare, and the lights reflected off his waxed shoulders.

"Ladies … and gentlemen, the Doctor is about to fill your prescription this evening!" he proclaimed into a microphone. "For your pleasure and enjoyment, Dr. No´s is proud to present…DR. LEATHER AND MR. HIDE!"

There was a roar and there were several loud hoots and whistles of approval, and people clustered around the stage as two men bounded onto it, both of them dressed in biker-style leather. One of them – Mr. Hide, Christine thought – was brandishing a whip.

"Are you _ready _for some hot sex tonight?" he boomed as seductively as he could at the number of decibels he was working with.

Another roar of approval, and feminine voices. "Take it off! Take it off! Take it _off!_"

Mr. Hide rolled his eyes in mock disapproval. "Patience, my dears, patience…these things have to be done little by little…" and, with that, he cracked his whip, took off his biker´s hat and held it aloft.

The roar reached a crescendo, and the sound of electric guitars growled and screeched to accompany the erotic bass thrum. Both Leather and Hide moved their long limbs seductively to the beat, and the crowd around the stage increased.

"I can´t see now," complained Meg, and she slid off the stool and gestured for Christine to follow her.

By the time they had reached the stage, both men had exposed tattooed torsos, and they were working at their leather trousers. Christine winced as a woman beside her screamed her encouragement to Dr. Leather, who had exposed his upper thigh. The trousers came off, and both men now wore black briefs. They began to shimmy near the edge of the stage invitingly, and hands pressed bills – and phone numbers – into their briefs. Meg produced a bill and handed another to Christine.

"Don´t be shy!" she yelled, and Christine giggled and shoved a bill into the waistline of Mr. Hide´s briefs.

Mr. Hide looked at her and did a double-take. He leaned forward as he danced, scrutinizing her carefully, and finally shouted, "I just _love _your Mimì, honey!"

Christine merely smiled and giggled. Mr. Hide suddenly ripped off his briefs, leaving only a g-string to cover himself, and, swinging the briefs over his head, then threw them directly at Christine, who caught them and stuffed them into a pocket on her miniskirt.

"I think you´ve had enough!" said a voice beside her. Christine turned as a firm hand gripped her elbow, and she turned to look at Jillian Blount, who looked back at her in frank disapproval.

"Well, _I _don´t think we have!" countered Meg, who now grasped Christine by her other arm.

Jillian remained as cool as ever – all business. "I´ll take you home, too, Meg. You´ve both had too much to drink, and Mr. D. has…lost his patience. If you come with me now, I won´t tell him that you´ve been here."

Christine was about to protest – the whiskey was still galloping through her veins like liquid freedom – but Meg was half-sober now.

"Come on, Christine," she acquiesced. "She´s right, you know. It´s time to go, and we definitely need a ride home. I´ll collect my car tomorrow."

Jillian herded them out of the club and into her car. Christine´s head was spinning. _So, back home to Erik. Bet he´s still mad at me. _She giggled sleepily. Mr. Hide´s briefs were lumped in her pocket, completely forgotten.


	22. Chapter 22

**I´m so grateful to all who have so kindly reviewed! Thank you for taking the time and the trouble to do so. You make my day!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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* * *

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The women could still hear the pulsing beat of the club´s music as they walked to the far end of the parking lot. Jillian shepherded Christine and Meg to a discreet grey Chrysler. _A totally generic car,_ thought Christine. _No wonder I never noticed it!_

The alcohol had settled into Christine´s system, and now she was completely drunk. She felt herself rebelling against the idea of being managed – _babysat!_ – by Jillian.

"We don´t really want to bother you," she said, clinging awkwardly to what remained of her dignity. "I´ll just call a taxi, if you don´t mind."

"Not on your life," responded Jillian. "Not in the state _you´re _in, honey! Anything could happen to you."

Jillian opened the car door for Christine and, with a sweeping gesture of mock-courtesy, invited her to enter.

Christine stood stock-still, glaring at her. It was clear that Jillian did not like her, and this discovery made her extremely uncomfortable.

"I´m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I´ll just call a cab now!" she insisted.

Meg, who was already in the back seat of the car, rolled down the window.

"What´s going on?" she yawned.

"Her Highness doesn´t want to get in," spat Jillian.

"Cut the crap and get in, Christine!" snapped Meg. "We´re all tired here!"

Christine reluctantly obeyed, and seated herself in the back of the car with Meg.

"Brat," said Jillian under her breath as she pulled out of the parking lot. Meg seemed not to notice, but Christine could hear her clearly.

"I beg your pardon?" prompted Christine, ready for battle to be joined.

"You heard me!" snarled Jillian.

"Look, whatever your problem is with me, _I _didn´t ask you to babysit me," said Christine. "That was Erik´s doing. I can take care of myself perfectly well – I was doing just fine before I knew him."

"Damn, you´re spoiled!" Jillian returned. "The man has solved your _life_, and all you can do is think about how fantastically well you were doing without him, and rebel against him in stupid ways."

"_Rebel? _Look, to rebel against someone means he´s in authority! The man does _not _own me, Miss Blount! And as for his _solving my life_…"

"You idiot! You´re so tied up with your fancy ideas that you don´t see how lucky you are. So _what_ if he acts like he owns you? I don´t see you complaining about that rock on your finger! You´re set for life! You don´t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from ever again. So, why don´t you just behave yourself and cut out the stupid shenanigans – the posing in the _nude, _the running off to resorts, and now _this! _I don´t understand why, but Mr. D. _loves _you. So, why the _hell _don´t you just grow up, be grateful, and behave?"

"Look, this is getting ridiculous. I don´t have to answer to _you_! Why are you telling me this, unless you´re just a bit jealous?" snapped Christine.

Jillian was quiet for a moment.

"Okay, you got me there. I _am _jealous. Mr. D. may be a cold s.o.b., but he´s an incredible catch. Let´s just say some of us aren´t as lucky as you are, and never have been, okay? So, take my advice, Princess – don´t push your luck with him."

"This has been a really _interesting _discussion, ladies," said Meg, "but I think I´ve heard enough – I don´t want to hear any more, okay, please? Anyway, we´re almost there."

* * *

Once inside the Modern, Meg went to look for her mother, while Jillian escorted Christine towards Erik´s home. As they turned down the final hallway, they could see that the door was open, and Erik´s tall figure was silhouetted against the slightly golden light behind him. He was waiting, and he did not care who knew it.

Christine balked, stopping in her tracks the second she saw Erik. She could actually feel her hair standing on end, but she refused to give in to panic. Her every instinct told her to flee, but she approached him, her steps leaden and deliberate. As she neared him, she noticed that Jillian had discreetly disappeared, and she did not blame her. Erik did not say a word, but merely moved aside as she entered the house, closing and locking the door behind them.

What to do? Erik was behind her, and she did not wish to turn around and face him. Resentment began to eclipse her fear, aided by the alcohol in her bloodstream. She set a course for the bedroom; Erik followed several paces behind her. As she entered the room, she moved quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. She backed away from it then, breathing heavily and waiting for the storm to break.

Dead silence.

If there had been something terrible about Erik´s silence before, it was terrifying now. She glanced at the French doors which opened out onto the terrace. The garden was dark and moonless, though covered in white snow. It was below freezing, but Christine was still wearing her jacket, and she wondered whether she might simply hide outside until Erik became less frightening.

The lights went out suddenly, and Christine found herself surrounded by darkness. Her thoughts inevitably flew to last night, and she panicked. She moved towards the door, and, opening it, ventured out into the garden, her boots crunching in the snow. The starlight illuminated the landscape slightly, and she surveyed it for a good hiding spot. As she looked to the left, her eyes desperately trying to adjust to the pitch-black shadows there, something bright came into focus – _Twin stars? Erik´s eyes! _

As soon as she had turned on her heel and started back into the house, she felt herself lifted roughly and carried easily into the bedroom. Erik deposited her on the bed and stood, looming over her in the pitch darkness. She shivered. She could only see his eyes, and she did not like the cold anger in them.

"Amusing," he hissed, but she surmised from his tone that he was not at all amused. "_Where _did you think you were going? You wouldn´t be afraid of me for some reason, would you, Christine?" His voice dripped cold sarcasm.

She summoned her courage.

"Oh, no, Erik, not at all. Whyever would I be frightened of _you_? And, please, turn on the lights. You know I can´t see in the dark," she answered.

A light came on and revealed Erik in shirtsleeves, his vest unbuttoned and his hair dishevelled. His lips were pressed together in a grim line as he stood over Christine like an inquisitor. He seemed to be gripping something in his left hand, which was fisted at his side.

"Right," said Christine, still tipsy, "You can turn the light _off_ now!"

"Where the _hell _have you been?" he hissed.

"Out," she answered, "which should have come as no surprise to you, after this morning´s little scene. Look, Erik, I´m tired right now, and I have to sing tomorrow, so can´t this wait until morning?"

"No." Erik´s eyes glittered unpleasantly. "Whether or not we are married yet, you are in my care. Did you consider _that _when you decided to live with me?"

"You´re not my father!" Christine snapped, "And you´re not my husband, not yet. As for living with you, maybe it was a bad idea. _Look at us!_ You´re more domineering and possessive than ever, and _I –" _ she paused, thinking of what Jillian had said, "_I´m _not really myself anymore. I keep going out of the way to prove I won´t be your little pawn, and I do ridiculous, childish things…"

Erik seemed to consider her words, then he opened his fist to reveal what he held within: the briefs that Mr. Hide had worn. He had somehow extracted them from Christine´s pocket as he had handled her. He dangled them in front of her now, his eyes like ice, then threw them aside in disgust.

"I suppose that _those _are a souvenir of your ridiculous childishness?"

"Perhaps, but Meg needed an evening out, too," Christine mused. "I wonder whether _she _might like to keep them?" She bent to pick the briefs up, but Erik stopped her, pinning her against the bed, white with outrage.

"Why do you wish to provoke me, Christine? Do you think that I might permit you to break your promise to me? I know you love me, in spite of your defiance. I know that you do not wish to betray me, but I cannot tolerate this!"

As he looked down at her, his tone became gentler.

"You know that you have been foolish, my love. I would give you perfect liberty, if you would only ask me…"

"_Ask _you? Erik, it´s not yours to dispense – it´s my _right _to go where I please, when I please. Whenever we marry, of course, I´ll have to take you into consideration, but we´re not yet married. Anyhow, marriage is a big step! I need time and freedom before I marry you, and you obviously don´t want to give it to me. There´s so much to think about…"

"You need my protection," said Erik, and he began to nuzzle her neck, relaxing against her.

"Jillian was watching us the entire afternoon and evening. You don´t have to worry about _that,"_ responded Christine, trying to keep her wits about her.

"Miss Blount failed to inform me of where you were this evening. She will no longer be in charge of your security," murmured Erik. His teeth nipped her neck briefly.

"No!" said Christine, stiffening. The alcohol dissipated, and her mind raced.

"You can´t get rid of Jillian! I´m the one who didn´t want her informing on me!" she protested.

"She has become too close to you, then, and is working in connivance with you. You needn´t worry – she has been loyal, and she will be reassigned, not dismissed…"

"She doesn´t even _like _me, Erik, much less connive with me! You _can´t_ do this!"

Erik sighed and abandoned his attack on Christine´s neck to look at her, and his eyes were unyielding.

"She goes. And another thing, Christine…"

"Yes?"

"You are to stay in this building at all times until I secure a replacement for her. It may take a week, roughly."

"No! Erik, did you hear anything I said? I need time, and I need _freedom! _You can´t do this to me!"

Christine struggled to get up, but Erik held her firmly, which ignited her anger.

"Erik! Let me go!"

"No. I know exactly what you´re thinking, and I won´t permit it."

"It´s not yours to permit or not permit! Yes, I´m going back to Auntie Val´s! I told you, this idea of living together was a mistake!"

"No," said Erik, "it was not, and you are not leaving." There was an edge of fear to his voice, and his grip on her was firm.

"I am! I have to! Let me go, Erik! Let me go!" Christine meant to sound firm, but her voice shook, and tears of frustration began to fall.

"Christine," said Erik softly – hypnotically, she realized, too late. "Christine…" he whispered, his eyes fixed on hers. She drifted off to sleep.

* * *

What time was it? Two o´clock in the morning?

She felt him slip into bed with her, and she felt his arms around her and his bare flesh against hers. She was mildly surprised to discover that she was nude now. She could not rouse herself from the floating, half-aware state she was in, and she did not protest as she felt his hands exploring her body, his mouth on hers. She felt the heat between her legs, and she was prepared for him.

_Yes. _She consented, but she could not bear to move. She remained passive, avenging herself, her arms listless at her sides. When he had finished, he whispered to her. He wanted her forgiveness; he loved her; he _needed_ her, yes, but he loved her. His fear was palpable, and his sobs shook the bed.

She closed herself to him, and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Two evenings later, Nadir appeared in Erik´s study, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Erik was at his desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey near his hand. He looked up at Nadir, his eyes tormented.

"Ah, Nadir! Welcome to Hell! Care for a bit of fire and brimstone?" he asked, gesturing towards the decanter.

"Er – no, thank you, Erik. I´ve brought my own poison with me," Nadir replied, patting the pocket where he kept his pack of cigarettes. "Might I ask why you´re pickling your liver, old man?"

Erik did not reply, but stared at his glass pensively. He ran a hand through his hair, then slammed a fist down on the desktop, but not a word betrayed his train of thought.

"Where´s Christine?" asked Nadir softly, apprehensively.

"In bed. She´s in bed. Now, there´s a fine torment!" said Erik, half to himself, laughing bitterly. He opened a drawer and started to shuffle around in it.

"Torment? Something has happened, Erik, and I am your friend. Please explain what is wrong."

"Ah, here we are," said Erik, pulling a revolver from the drawer. He checked the cylinder.

"Erik! Please, speak to me!" said Nadir.

"She won´t love me much longer, Nadir. No one can, you know," Erik responded, gazing at a bullet between his long fingers. He placed it in the cylinder, then spun the cylinder and clicked it shut.

"She loves you very much indeed, and she will never stop loving you," said Nadir softly, fervently, his eyes trained on the gun.

Erik cackled and raised the gun to his head, but then lowered it, his hand shaking with indecision.

"I´m holding her prisoner, you know," he confided to Nadir. "She won´t speak with me now, and she hardly eats. She wants to leave me. She wants to leave me, Nadir!"

Erik dropped the gun and buried his head in his hands, sobbing.

"Erik, you have it wrong! If you would only listen to me for once – truly listen to me! Christine _loves _you, no matter what. You have not given her the freedom she needs – haven´t I _told _you, all along, that you could not drag her, kicking and screaming, into sudden commitment? She needs a longer, much gentler courtship, Erik! You did not heed my Cassandra warnings, and now you have _this _situation on your hands. Have I not been correct in every last thing I´ve told you? Well, _believe _me, Erik, please, when I tell you that I know love when I see it, and Christine loves you very much, and she will always love you!"

Erik had stopped sobbing as Nadir spoke, and he now looked at him, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

"What do I do, Nadir? What can I do? I´ve been vile to her…"

"Now, Erik, that´s not true. You´ve been very good to her," ventured Nadir.

"Ah, _oui, je suis bon comme le pain_," said Erik, laughing bitterly.

"She sees the good in you, Erik. You just need to give her time…and perhaps some distance. Maybe it´s time you let her go."

Erik stared at Nadir, stunned, as if he had received a blow.

* * *

Christine was surprised to see Nadir approaching her backstage immediately after Saturday evening´s performance. She looked nervously around for Erik, but something was delaying him. She looked at the door, envisioning herself flying through it, escaping, but she did not dare.

"You were wonderful, as always, Christine," boomed Nadir in greeting, then leaned in to murmur in a low voice. "Come with me, quickly now – I have an escape planned for you."

"But Erik –"

"_Now, _Christine, if you truly wish to leave," Nadir insisted, looking nervously around.

"But he´ll kill you!"

"He won´t if he ever wishes me to reveal your whereabouts, which will be kept secret for as long as I can manage," assured Nadir with a quick, reassuring smile. "Well…?"

"Oh, please, yes!" gasped Christine, and taking Nadir´s arm, she allowed him to escort her through a back passage down to the underground garage, where his car and freedom awaited her.


	23. Chapter 23

**My apologies to all for taking so long to update – Christmas, you know. **

**My thanks to all who have taken the time and trouble to review. You are fantastic! Also, I´m grateful to all those who have "favorited" this story. Thanks! **

**This chapter continues last chapter´s somber mood, but we´ll be out of the woods sooner or later. At least it´s short!  
**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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**"Christine, will you just relax and forget about the cleaning already? You are so uptight!" moaned Rose as Christine finished piling the remainder of last night´s beer cans into the garbage. Rose´s studio apartment was a large, sprawling bohemian place with high ceilings and stylishly exposed pipes and ductwork. There were no rooms, besides a small bathroom with a rudimentary shower.

The bathroom had been the first thing that Christine had cleaned when she had arrived at Rose´s apartment a week earlier.

"Won´t Erik find me here?" she had asked Nadir.

"It´s unlikely," Nadir had replied. "Rose won´t be going to the Open Studio while you´re here, so she won´t be followed, and absolutely _nothing _here is in her name or can be traced to her. Besides, even _I _don´t know her surname – she insists on going by her first name alone."

Now Christine started to clean the kitchen area, as quietly as possible, while Rose lay in her bed, moaning as her hangover tortured her.

Christine was slowly adapting to living in a busy social center -- the studio was the hub of constant comings and goings, especially in the evenings. Rose never locked the door, and people came and went at will. Most were artists, and many ended up staying overnight – smoking joints, drinking, arguing, even making love in odd corners. There was one man with long, grey hair and a beard who came every evening at eight to work on a painting he had in progress. He would work diligently for about an hour, brush in hand, and then spend the rest of the evening sitting on a stool, contemplating his work, drinking beer, and cursing.

"That´s Marcus," Rose told Christine when she asked about him. "He has a day job as a loss adjustor for an insurance company, and he totally hates it. He just comes here to relax. He´s been working on that piece for six months now."

Rose herself always had several projects going at once.

The apartment was full of paints, paintbrushes soaking, canvases leaning on walls, and tables full of odd materials in boxes, cans, and buckets. The smell of turpentine permeated the air.

Nadir visited every evening. Three days after Christine´s arrival, he had visited the studio with news for Christine.

"I´m afraid that Erik is aware of my role in your disappearance," Nadir had announced ruefully.

"Oh, no! Are you okay, Mr. Khan? Look, I can go back now, if he´s threatening you…" she had replied, but Nadir had stopped her.

"No, no. We had a long talk, he and I, and he is willing to give you the time that you need, but on the condition that I visit you every day and report to him. He worries about you, Christine. And he wishes for you to have these," said Nadir, pulling out three envelopes.

They were letters – one for every day Christine had been absent from Erik. They spoke of love and regret, of his hope that she would forgive him and return to him. As the days passed and Nadir continued his visits, Erik´s daily missives became frank love letters. One thing never varied: the invitation to her to return, preferably immediately, always appeared at the end of each letter. He sent sheet music, too, most of it in his own hand, for her vocal practice each day.

Christine leaned over the sink, scrubbing paint off its enamel. She thought of the relentless cleanliness of Erik´s house, of its peace… and of Erik.

"Hey," came a male voice behind her, and Christine turned to look at one of the young men who had stayed overnight. He was modestly attired in a jock strap, for some reason. He stood there, scratching, his shoulder-length blond hair pulled back to reveal multiple piercings in the cartilage of his ears. _Doesn´t that hurt? _He reeked of sweat, beer, and sex, and Christine tried her best not to recoil.

"Yes?" she inquired politely.

"Wanna do hot knives?" he asked.

"Um….hot knives? What do you mean?" Christine glanced involuntarily at the drying rack, where she had left several knives after cleaning some charred substance off of them.

Rose came to life. "No, Justin, she is _not_ going to do knives with you. Jesus! What do you think this place is? It´s morning! Can´t you see the sun? Can´t you? Well, I wouldn´t be surprised if you can´t, after last night."

"Hey, man, I´m just trying to quit smoking," protested Justin.

"One hell of a way," muttered Rose. "What makes you think hash is better than tobacco?"

"Cause tobacco kills," said Justin. "Those suits at the big corporations just want us six feet under. It´s legalized death, man! You can´t smoke something that´s legal, cause it´ll kill you!" He punctuated his arguments by punching the air with his right fist every time he began a sentence.

"Right, Justin," yawned Rose. "Look, I really didn´t want you doing hot knives here last night, and I sure don´t want it this morning, so just get your things and go, okay? It´s morning. I repeat: it´s morning."

Justin scratched himself again, muttered something in resignation, and retreated.

Christine sighed in relief, and the door opened, admitting a rush of cold air as Nadir entered.

Rose shivered, but brightened as she saw who it was.

"Nade! My man!" she said, and left her bed to kiss him, dressed only in a t-shirt and underwear. He embraced her, smiling, and put a bag on the now-clean counter. A steamy, warm fragrance of bacon wafted through the air.

"Breakfast for my favourite young ladies," said Nadir with his usual cheer. "Courtesy of Erik, actually, who worries that his beloved may be starving."

"What smells good?" asked Justin, reappearing opportunely. He was wearing jeans now, and, strangely enough, a wristwatch.

"Something for the ladies, for their breakfast," said Nadir, standing squarely between Justin and the bag.

Justin craned his neck longingly as Rose rummaged through the bag and Christine produced two plates.

"Have a cigarette," said Nadir amicably, offering one to Justin, who took it and lit it.

"_Shit,_" he said as he took his first puff. "I was trying to quit!"

"Mind your language! There are ladies present!" snapped Nadir. He was no longer smiling.

"Oh…sorry," mumbled Justin, and he retreated once more.

Nadir accepted a cup of coffee and seated himself with the women, smoking and chatting with them as they ate.

"Honey, I hate to say this, but you look awful," said Rose, taking an index finger and tracing the dark circles under his eyes with it. She ran her fingers through his hair as she leaned over him, examining him. "You look like you didn´t sleep at all last night!"

Nadir looked up at her, his eyes tired but adoring. "I´m fine, my dear, just fine," he murmured.

"Erik kept you up, didn´t he?" asked Christine, looking at Nadir with worry in her eyes.

Nadir sighed. "Yes," he said, "I stayed with him all night last night. He suffers greatly...No! You mustn´t blame yourself, Christine," he added quickly, as he watched her reaction. "He imprisoned you, and he alone is to blame for that.

"There is something you could do for him, however. I have come this morning, at his request, to ask something of you. He wishes to see you, Christine."

He watched the play of emotions on her face as she listened, and he sat, waiting for her response.

"She doesn´t want to see him! Do you, Christine? He´s just a control freak – a total pig!"

"He´s not a _pig_!" Christine protested fiercely. "He doesn´t mean to smother me!"

"Well, I´d say he´s old enough to know how to behave," said Rose. "He´s just another repressive plutocrat, and you´re his favourite victim. If you do what he wants, you´re an enabler, Christine – an _enabler_, you know!"

The memory of how quickly Jillian had judged _her _flashed through Christine´s mind as she listened to Rose pass summary judgment on Erik. _I´m not a spoiled brat, and Erik´s definitely not a pig. What are we, in truth? _

"I love him, Rose, okay? And I know he´s trying. He´s given me time alone, and it´s gone against his nature completely. And I miss him…" _Every time I have to deal with one of your smelly, beer-guzzling, scratching, cursing, hash-smoking friends, I miss him more! The contrast is unbelievable! _"…I miss him more every day."

"You agree to meet with him, then?" asked Nadir, relief clearly visible on his features.

"Yes – tonight, in fact. I´ve missed choir practice at St. David´s for a couple of weeks now, and I´m planning to go this evening. He could meet me there."

Nadir smiled tiredly and nodded. "Excellent! Now, Rose," he added, as she began to protest again, "You don´t understand Erik. It took me a good many years to understand him, and there are still moments where I draw a blank. Believe me, he´s not what you think him to be.

"So, Christine," he continued, "I´ll tell him it´s dinner after choir practice tonight, then? Good, good. He will be delighted."

* * *

Christine borrowed a skirt from Rose – long, but form-fitting, with what looked like a mathematical formula scrawled artistically all over its dark denim in blazing yellow. A heavy sweater and boots completed her look, and as she worked on her hair, it occurred to her: _This is my first date with Erik!_

She arrived at St. David´s just in time for the Wednesday afternoon choir practice.

"Choir practice will be in the church itself today," said Mr. Barrett, the associate minister, directing the choir members away from the St. David´s parish hall. "Unusual circumstances…"

The sound of Bach played on the pipe organ suddenly filled the air – with enough stops pulled out, the music could clearly be heard outdoors, and even the stained-glass windows seemed to rattle with the power of it. It was so wonderfully executed that Christine nearly stopped in her tracks. _It can´t be!_

But it was. As soon as she entered the nave, Christine could see Erik´s elegant form seated at the organ, blasting away passionately. He seemed so absorbed, so involved with the instrument, that she was startled when he stopped abruptly and turned to stare at her openly, distant as she was. He seemed to start forward in her direction, but he restrained himself and settled back on his bench, still watching her. The other choir members had gradually been congregating in their usual places behind the roodscreen, and Christine conquered her nervousness enough to march to her place.

Mr. Barrett appeared near Erik, glowing his approval.

"I think we have _you_ to thank for this bit of kindness, Christine," he said, smiling, then directed his next comments to the choir.

"As you probably know, our regular choirmaster, Mr. Pitts, is a new father. Fatherhood is not always a bed of roses…"

"Not with _his _baby! That´s the most colicky infant I´ve ever seen!" interrupted one of the choir members. There was a smattering of laughter.

"…and Mr. Pitts has been battling fatigue as of late. Mr. DeJongh here," Barrett continued, indicating Erik, whose gaze was still fixed on Christine, "has kindly volunteered to substitute for Mr. Pitts for two weeks, besides making a sizable donation to the Saint Winefride Fund."

There was quick applause, and Erik seemed to awaken – he glanced at the choir and nodded briefly.

"Mr. DeJongh, I leave this choir to your tender mercies," said Mr. Barrett with a quick wave of his hand, and he departed.

There was an awkward silence during which Erik returned his gaze to Christine and sat, unmoving, on his bench. The choir began to murmur restlessly, however, and Erik broke his reverie to regard the music in front of him.

"Right," he began, without further ado. "I believe you subjected Handel to some new and innovative forms of torture last Sunday, but no such atrocities will be tolerated on _my _watch. This Sunday´s intended victim is…" he paused to glance at the music, then to glare at the choir, "…´The Fruit of the Spirit is Love.' I trust you all have read through this piece, so I will start with the introduction…"

Therewith followed the most harrowing practice to which the St. David´s choir had ever been subjected. Erik insulted and berated its members, singling them out individually for correction. He had them repeat the same five bars fifteen times at one point. At the end of three hours, however, the improvement in their singing was remarkable, and as they straggled out of the church, they murmured to each other in tired approval.

Christine remained in her place, waiting. When they were alone in the church, finally, Erik approached her.

"You came," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. He touched her cheek, his eyes turbulent.

"Of course, Erik," she answered. "You didn´t need to go to all _this _trouble, you know," she said, indicating the organ.

He shook his head. "I attended the service on Sunday, hoping to see you, and when Nadir told me you would come here today, I sought to substitute the choirmaster. Music will always bind us together, you and I."

He offered her his arm, and they left the church. His eyes were on her constantly, assessing her, examining her, and their hunger seemed to know no bounds. As they walked out the door, he indicated the mathematical formula on her skirt appreciatively.

"The Riemann Hypothesis," he said approvingly.

"The _what_?" she asked.

"The formula on your skirt. It´s the Riemann Hypothesis, repeated several times."

"I didn´t know it made any sense," admitted Christine, smiling at him. _He always surprises me – how I´ve missed him!_

_

* * *

_

Over dinner, he engaged Christine in his usual light conversation before he dared to approach more serious topics.

"I had that California soprano, Josefa Gutiérrez-Ibarra, flown in to cover your role for the last few performances of _Bohème. _She is a solid artist, but she cannot compare to you. We have had to refund quite a few tickets," lamented Erik.

"I´m sorry," said Christine, looking down at the tablecloth.

"No," said Erik, "you mustn´t be. I am the one solely to blame for this situation. You cannot imagine my regret, Christine. You have read my letters, perhaps? You know my feelings, then. I should like to know yours. I will do whatever it takes for you to be happy. Whatever you need!"

He reached across the table to take her hand, then observed her fingers, stroking them with his thumb.

"Come back to me, Christine," he whispered.

"I will," she replied. "I will, and soon. Just give me a little more time, please…"

She could not bear to meet his eyes, frightened of the pain she might see there. She focused on their hands.

"When may I see you again, Christine?" he asked, finally, his voice raw with emotion.

"I´ll see you on Sunday, won´t I?" she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. "We could spend the day together, after morning services."

Christine could feel his pain as she called a taxi and his self-control as he opened its door for her. On an impulse, she turned to embrace him and found herself firmly in his arms. She inhaled his fragrance, fighting tears, and when she pulled away, his arms tightened around her only briefly before he forced himself to let her go. She met his eyes.

"I will try, Christine, remember that. Whatever you need, I will do."

She left him, her heart heavy within her, her feelings in disarray.


	24. Chapter 24

**Greetings, everyone, and Happy Holidays to all! Sorry this update is a little late – it´s been a busy week!**

**A thousand thanks to all who have taken the time and trouble to review! You´re the best!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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The following evening, Nadir arrived with the usual exquisitely-penned love letter from Erik and a document from Erik´s lawyer.

"You had asked Erik about a prenup, I believe?" said Nadir, as he handed Christine the envelope.

"This is a prenuptial agreement?" asked Christine. It was an unpleasant surprise, but she hid her disappointment and started to examine the document.

"Not exactly," answered Nadir. "This is unilateral, so you won´t need to sign it. Erik wanted you to have it."

Christine perused the papers, and a type of shock began to set in.

"Mr. Khan…If I understand this correctly, Erik is giving me everything he owns in the event of a divorce or a separation…"

"In the event that _he _is the one who initiates any divorce or legal separation, yes," conceded Nadir. "He wishes to bury any notion that you may still entertain that you are merely a passing fancy."

"But he doesn´t have to do this," said Christine. "He missed my point. I´m sure that he loves me now, but I …well, I´ve seen some wonderful marriages grow cold…"

Nadir paused to look at her before he responded, and he smiled at her in gentle understanding.

"Christine, I think I can shed some light and comfort over these dark doubts you have about Erik´s feelings. I understand him better than anyone in this world, I think, and I can assure you that his affection for you is not ephemeral. No, indeed! Quite the opposite!

"If you were not in love with him, Christine, and if I did not think that yours were the type of wholesome love that lasts, then I would advise you to be afraid of the power and longevity of Erik´s feelings for you. They certainly frighten _him_, which is why he has not been exactly gentle with you…"

"But he´s thirty-eight years old, Mr. Khan! You make him sound so…"

"…Inexperienced? He has a great deal of experience with women, but no experience with love. Has he ever spoken with you about his childhood, or about his travels?"

"No, I only know certain things about is childhood from …another source. As for his globe-trotting, he tells me a lot about geography, history, languages, and such, but nothing at all about what _he _was doing in the different places he´s been…"

"Don´t ask!" Nadir cut in abruptly.

"I know better than to ask, Mr. Khan," Christine said, sadly.

There was an awkward silence. Nadir lit a cigarette and resumed the conversation quietly.

"Music was always his only passion – the only crack in the cold, disciplined façade he cultivated. Until you came along. You are at once love and obsession, Christine. Try to understand that his need for you is often at war with his love for you. You are an addiction – yes, I know it sounds horrible – and an addiction is a lifelong thing. Yet he is doing his best to give you the time you need. He is doing his very best not to seek you out, you know. You and I both know the truth."

"That he could easily find me? That he probably already knows where I am? I know, Mr. Khan. I know."

* * *

_Why do you love me?_

Christine scribbled her quick note to Erik, put it into an envelope, and pressed it into Nadir´s hand. Her answer came back by courier within a half-hour.

**May I see you, please?**

The address of a café was written at the bottom, and Christine left the apartment to hail a taxi.

Erik stood as she entered the café, and Christine noted how ill-at-ease he was in so public a place.

"Thank you for coming," he said, taking her coat and pulling out her chair for her. He bent to kiss her cheek, and she thrilled to feel his touch once more.

He moved to the chair across from her, keeping a respectful difference, but the intensity of his gaze belied his calm politeness.

"You ask me _why _I love you. Forgive me, but I thought it best to address so intimate a question personally, not by correspondence.

"It is curious that you ask me that question now, now that I realize I have neglected to tell you something very important. You see, at our very first meeting – yes, on the evening I treated you so abysmally! – you were given precious little opportunity to speak, yet _I remembered your voice for years_ afterwards. I had loathed sleeping before your voice came into my life; all my dreams had been unpleasant. Yet your voice invaded my dreams and filled me with ineffable hopes. I did not understand the meaning of all of this until one day when you came to audition at the Modern, and suddenly everything fell into place. Unfortunately, you loathed me, and I deserved your hatred.

"I loved you – I _love _you, and I always will. You are everything your voice whispered you could be to me, and I shall always regret my poor treatment of you."

"You didn´t treat me poorly, Erik. Well, maybe that first evening…but you´ve never treated me badly…"

Yet Erik shook his head and smiled bitterly.

"Erik…I miss you so," said Christine, on impulse, and he reached for her hand. Her engagement ring sparkled between them, and his eyes flicked from the ring to her face.

"Come back to me," he said simply.

"Soon, Erik. I promise."

* * *

They met every day thereafter at the same café to converse, and often would take walks together in the chilly winter air, Erik´s arm about Christine´s waist, enjoying the peaceful silence together. The days shortened as the winter solstice approached, and Christine perceived a type of melancholy in Erik which was new in him. He was always careful not to frighten her in any way, and he only permitted himself chaste kisses on her cheek. Every now and then, however, Christine would surprise the old light in his eyes, so carefully hidden from her now. A sudden glance or a bold comment were sufficient to pierce through his façade and discover the truth: his desire, his need, and his passion remained unchanged.

Nadir, she concluded, had been right about Erik. Now, as Christine meditated, the years ahead seemed to gain a type of form and clarity, as an artist´s rough sketch reveals the mystery contained in the seeming emptiness of a blank page.

Erik continued to direct St. David´s choir in so terrifying a manner that several of its less dedicated members resigned. The quality and difficulty of the musical pieces the group tackled increased gradually, and even the congregation, tone-deaf as it was, noticed the improvement.

Christmas approached swiftly, and Christine began to look through shop windows in exasperation. _What to give to the man who has everything?_ An idea began to take form within her mind. She picked up her cellphone and called Auntie Val.

* * *

Christmas Eve found the couple at the café earlier than usual. Erik had mentioned that he had a gift for Christine, but that it would require some explanation.

She was shocked at the sadness reflected in his face as he gave her a carefully-wrapped box – red paper, she noticed. As she opened the box and withdrew a binder, she felt that something was breaking within Erik.

"What´s this, Erik? I can´t believe this…it´s an itinerary?"

"A proposed itinerary, Christine. A journey that I propose you take," said Erik softly. He appeared to force air into his lungs and continued. "You would start by flying to London, and from there, you would go to Paris…Do you see the items in this column? They represent possible side trips and tours. You would not be a backpacking tourist – I won´t have you doing that – but you _will_ enjoy a great deal of freedom. There will be security people assigned to you, however. I have the right to protect you, Christine. That much will always remain for me."

The lead in Erik´s usual golden tones shocked Christine. "This trip would take me a year to complete," she observed, looking at Erik questioningly.

"Yes, it would," he murmured. "A year away from each other. A year for you to enjoy the greatest freedom ever afforded a person on this earth, to see the entire world. A year to learn, and to think. A _year_…"

For once, Erik would not meet Christine´s eyes, and he clearly fought for control of himself. He regained his voice.

"That is my gift to you, Christine. The time that you wished for, and the freedom that you wanted. I will not force you to return at the end of your year, my love. I only pray that you will remember, always, that I love you, and that you will someday find it _in your heart_ to return to me."

* * *

Jillian Blount tamped down the aggravation she felt as she entered Erik DeJongh´s study on Christmas morning. Weeks of watching that pathetic artists´ flat and tracking Christine Daaé´s comings and goings! Weeks of reporting every single detail to Mr. DeJongh, down to what Ms. Daaé had had for breakfast, lunch and dinner! Weeks of sifting through every bag of garbage discarded by the studio-dwellers!

Now, however, all her efforts had finally paid off. She had Found Something! And what a Something it was!

As Mr. DeJongh rose to greet her, Jillian noticed that there was something missing from his usual spirited demeanor, but she was too excited by her discovery to acknowledge it.

"Thought you might like to see what I found in this morning´s garbage, Mr. D.," said Jillian without preamble. She proffered the object, ensconced in tissue paper, to Erik, who accepted it, examined it, and blanched.

Jillian continued to speak, unperturbed by his reaction.

"You know the drill, Mr. D. You buy a kit at the drug store, you pee on the stick, and you wait for the results. That one, as you see, is showing a little plus sign – positive, you know, so she is _definitely _pregnant. There are never any false positives, so don´t think there´s a mistake here, Mr. D."

She waited, proud to display the fruits of her labor. Praise from Mr. D. was very rare and always indirect. Perhaps he would raise her salary?

She watched as he underwent a subtle change. Something heavy and dark seemed to lift from him, banished, and he smiled slowly, staring at the test on his desk.

"I must leave now, Miss Blount," he said simply, crossing the room with long strides to collect his coat and muffler.

* * *

Erik swept into the church like a whirlwind that Christmas morning, and the choir cringed collectively, frightened that he might vivisect them all. Yet it soon became clear that it was happiness which spurred him on, and as the morning service progressed, he sat and stared openly at Christine, fairly beaming. She met his gaze with confusion, then suspicion. _Is the cat out of the bag? _She fingered the box she held in her hand: gold cufflinks in the form of holly leaves – her Christmas gift to him, which had cost her a good percentage of her savings.

She disappeared before Erik had finished playing the postlude, running into the parish house to change her clothes.

"Christine!" Erik´s voice called insistently at the other side of the door, and the doorknob rattled.

"I´m changing!" she said loudly, and then she heard another voice calling outside.

"I´m here with Meg to help you, dear!" called Auntie Val, and Christine sighed with relief. She was having some trouble with her dress.

"Help her?" Erik´s voice questioned just outside, and Christine smiled to herself.

"They need to help me with my wedding dress, Erik!" she called, and waited. There was dead silence on the other side of the door for a long minute, then a burst of feminine laughter – Auntie Val and Meg were enjoying something immensely.

"Christine?" Erik´s voice again.

"Yes, Erik?"

"Did you say…?"

"Of course I did, Erik. I´ve decided you and I should get married today. You did say 'anytime,' didn´t you? Well, I thought Christmas Day would make a very nice wedding-day for us. Don´t you agree? Now, all you have to do is stand at the altar and wait for me to march down the aisle, we´ll go through the ceremony, and we´ll be done in a jiff. Auntie Val has very kindly arranged everything for us, but I think you may have to go over some details with the minister now, so do you think you could…?"

There was a murmur of voices on the other side of the door and some giggling from Meg. Christine cracked the door open and held out the gift-box for Erik to accept, her arm pinched between the door and the frame.

"I got you a Christmas gift, too, Erik, and I hope you will wear it," she said. The box was lifted from her hand, and she felt the warmth of his hands on hers suddenly, then the roughness of his chin as he kissed her hand.

"I shall wait for you, Christine," he said, and he was gone.

Auntie Val and Meg entered, still laughing discreetly.

"Let´s look at you…" said Auntie Val. "Oh, yes, perfect! I knew a simple, long-sleeved white gown would be just right. Now, for the final touch," she said, and she produced a crown of holly for Christine to wear with her veil.

"Where´s Rose?" Christine asked.

"She´s with Nadir right now. He was successful at sneaking the wedding-rings out of Erik´s study this morning, by the way, so the rings are on track," said Auntie Val, and she and Meg continued a lively conversation with Christine, doing their best to soothe the nervous bride, until she was ready for the ceremony.

Had she ever dreamed of her wedding? No, never. Christine had never considered marriage until she met Erik. Yet thanks to Auntie Val´s miraculously rapid planning, their wedding was somehow _perfect. _The Christmas wreaths which decorated the church lent their fragrance to the ceremony as soft winter sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows as they exchanged their vows. There were only a handful of guests – it was an intimate, happy ceremony. A small reception in the parish hall followed, and as Erik led Christine towards it, he stopped in his tracks and enfolded her in a simple embrace, his eyes aglow.

"You _do _keep secrets, my love," he murmured, and for the first time in weeks, he kissed her deeply.

* * *

Erik carried Christine into his home, but he stopped dead in his tracks once he entered his study. Nadir had beaten them home and was in his favourite chair, smoke curling up from a cigarette in his fingers.

"Nadir," Erik hissed dangerously. He eased Christine out of his arms and turned to face his friend.

"Of all the hours in all the days of the year, you have chosen _this time _to visit us? Have you so little respect for human life – specifically, your _own_?" he growled.

Nadir greeted this onslaught with a beatific smile and puffed at his cigarette for a second before he answered.

"When I approached your desk this morning in search of your wedding bands, I could not help but see a certain something on top of it. It seems you are to be a father, and I have come to congratulate you, old man!"

Erik´s eyes darted to the test, still on top of his desk, and he smiled slightly. Christine, however, looked completely confused – even upset.

"What do you mean, Mr. Khan? Erik´s not going to be a father, unless there´s something I don´t know about…are you, Erik?"

Erik turned to stare at Christine, and they stood, their gazes locked in silent confusion. After a few seconds, Christine turned and approached the desk. She stared at the test, her brow knitted in bewilderment.

"Erik…?"

"That, Christine, is the test which Miss Blount found after sifting through your…through your refuse this morning. You must have taken this test sometime yesterday or this morning…"

"No," said Christine abruptly. "Heavens, Erik! You´ve been going through our _garbage? _Whose idea was that?"

"Do you mean to tell me…?"

"No, Erik, I am _not _pregnant! I´ve been much too careful for that!"

"In that case, this test…"

"There were _two _women living in that apartment, Erik!"

"These results, then, would be…"

"Exactly! They´re Rose´s! Rose is the one who´s pregnant!"

They both turned to look at Nadir, whose cigarette had turned to a long column of ash as they spoke. The fingers which held it did not move, and his eyes were glassy with shock.

"Well!" said Erik, a mocking smile at his lips. "I believe congratulations _are_ in order!"


	25. Chapter 25

**A Happy New Year to everyone! **

**My eternal thanks, too, to all who have reviewed. I really appreciate it!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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Nadir exited wordlessly, leaving the newlyweds to their privacy.

Erik stared at Christine as if seeing her for the very first time.

"You´re not expecting," he said slowly, and he dropped into the armchair Nadir had just vacated, his gaze still fixed on his wife.

"That´s right," said Christine patiently, "I´m _not pregnant!_" She paused for a moment as something occurred to her, and she looked at Erik accusingly. "Erik! Did you think I married you today because I was in a family way?"

His silence was all the confirmation Christine needed. He continued to look at her in bewilderment and wonder.

"I married you simply because I wanted to, Erik. The moment was right…"

"And the trip to Europe I had planned for you? I was certain when I gifted you with that itinerary that by now you would have had your bags packed, that you would be ready to leave…"

"To leave _you, _Erik? I don´t think so. I´m glad you mentioned that trip, though, because I have to admit that it was the idea of the trip that pushed me over the edge and into marriage. You were really prepared to let me go, weren´t you?"

"I cannot say I could ever be _prepared _to do that, but I would have done it," said Erik, something dark and grim flickering in his eyes at the thought.

"We could take the trip _together,_ you and I," ventured Christine. "If you could clear your agenda, that is. And I really didn´t mean to disappoint you, Erik – about the pregnancy, I mean. I just want us to have some time alone together before we start a family…"

"Disappointed!" Erik exclaimed, rising to his feet and approaching Christine, the old fire in his eyes. "I am about to _show _you how _disappointed _I am with you, my love…"

His smile was dangerous, and Christine skittered away from him, smiling coyly. She eased her feet out of her shoes discreetly.

"You´ll have to catch me first!" she said as she turned and bolted out of the room and into their bedroom, locking the door behind herself. She slipped into the closet and, selecting a sexy teddy, slipped out of her dress. _I´ll just unlock the door once I´m ready…_

"And so, you have not yet learned?" came Erik´s voice as the lights went out.

_Oh, dear. _Christine fumbled with the teddy, frustrated.

"Erik! I need to get ready!"

She felt herself in his arms, suddenly, and she realized with a shock that he was undressed, too. His eyes glowed down at her.

"Oh, I believe that you are _quite _ready…"

The air was heavy with desire, but Christine rallied and pushed against Erik´s chest half-heartedly. "What did you buy me sexy lingerie for, if you´re going to swoop down on me before I can put it on?"

"You invited me to catch you, did you not? Consider yourself _caught_," he said, his voice both gentle in its tones yet rough with desire. The fragrance that radiated from his skin – of cologne, of masculine desire, of impatient, excited _lust _– excited a warmth within Christine, a carnal _need _for him.

He gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She expected him to take her immediately, roughly, and though she welcomed him, she tensed slightly.

"No," he said, and his eyes and voice were tender in spite of his need. "I´ll not hurt you, Christine. Not now. There is a before and an after with us, my love. I beg your forgiveness for what passed between us before…"

He lit a candle without the aid of a match somehow, and shadows danced on the walls. He extinguished an odd spark of light between long, graceful fingers, then turned to Christine, his eyes brilliant. The valleys and ridges formed by flesh, bone, and bulky muscle were new to her – the sight of a man´s nude body was new to her, and the pleasure and shock of seeing Erik thus caused her to close her eyes involuntarily. She heard his low chuckle and felt his warmth as he leaned over her once more.

His hands caressed her flesh lightly, gently, and he kissed her deeply, but he allowed her to breathe. Beneath his self-control, something was wound more tightly than a watch-spring. She could _feel _it, and she marvelled. _Discipline. Control._

_When have I ever touched him? _He was propped on his elbow, his shoulders looming over her, and she reached out with tentative fingers and stroked him gently from his shoulder to his elbow, feeling the muscles which knotted under his soft skin. He stiffened for a split second, then seemed to melt imperceptibly into her touch, and her fingers were clearly at the vortex of his awareness. She moved her hand over his chest, his rib cage, and to the tense, rippled muscles of his abdomen, which relaxed gradually as she stroked him. She closed her eyes as her hand moved lower, still too timid to look, and she felt the turgid length of him and the silken skin which covered it. She drew her hand back, frightened by the size and the iron-hardness of him, remembering the night he had torn her apart.

"Christine," he murmured gently, and she opened frightened eyes to look into his tender, unmasked gaze. He nudged her gently onto her back, but instead of the urgent coupling she had expected, he nuzzled at her neck, and gentle fingers caressed her, centering finally between her legs, exciting a need for him that was deeper and more urgent with each second. She could hear him as he stifled a moan, she could smell his desire as its musky fragrance filled the air, and she felt herself fairly melting in response. Her desire coated his fingers, and he hovered above her, gently parting her thighs with his hips.

She could feel him gaining entrance, pushing into her gently, pressing. He slid into her easily this time, and she shifted to accommodate his size once more. He filled and stretched her, and she could nearly hear him grit his teeth as he controlled himself one second more, remaining still as he assured himself that he was not hurting her. She felt the need to draw him into her and instinctively shifted position slightly, permitting him the most depth that she possibly could. This silent invitation broke through his careful control, and, gasping, he pulled back to thrust into her as deeply as possible.

Christine was surprised by her own body – how the muscles deep inside her worked to hold him within her. As she could feel herself pulling him into her depths, she could hear him moan in pleasure at the silent welcome of it: He had been kissing her, nuzzling her, lost in the tactile pleasure of these moments, but now he simply looked down at her, moving within her slowly and relishing her need of him – the body that held him, the eyes that adored him. A snatch of something passed between them – _With my body I thee worship! _Had he spoken? She ceased to wonder as he drove into her ever more deeply, ever more urgently, relinquishing control completely.

She felt something within herself – a great, yawning hunger for more of him, somehow, and her muscles began to soften around him in want, and he gasped and moaned his pleasure, lost within his own frenetic need of her. Just as she thought she would melt completely around him in pleasant softness, she felt a _blossoming _– something strong, so sublimely _open _to his invasion of her flesh – _surrender! _The petals of the blossom, delicate yet firm, closed and pulsed about him, stroking him in waves of glorious acceptance. He allowed himself to be transported by her, the size of him stretching her even more; at the same time, he thrust into her one last, deep time, shuddering in absolute bliss.

He rested atop her for a long moment, whispering to her and kissing her, more gently now. He eased her over, then, until she was lying on top of him, making sure that the eiderdown covered her. He held her to him gently, one arm about her waist, another holding her head against his shoulder. He allowed his fingers to stroke her hair, and she could feel his breathing return to normal. An ineffable peace enveloped them now, and she was reluctant to speak. Words were inadequate.

_One thing – only one thing. _"So this is marriage," she finally murmured.

"Yes," he concurred. "You understand, now, at last."

"The love…" she added.

"…and the time," he whispered. "All the years that lie before us, be they good or bad."

* * *

Nadir entered Rose´s studio with an offering of sandwiches and juice. He usually brought her coffee, but news of her condition had plunged him into uncertainty over what food and drink he should be buying for her.

He found Rose busily working with a wooden stretcher bar, preparing it for a canvas. Brushes in paint thinner lined a nearby counter, and the usual pine-based chemical stink reigned in the air.

"Nade!" she greeted him with her usual warmth. She tapped at a nail carefully, then glanced up at him. "A very Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, or Happy Kwanzaa to you, or whatever it is you celebrate today…"

"I´ll settle for 'Happy Holidays,' my dear," said Nadir, smiling warmly. He perched on a stool awkwardly, observing Rose carefully. His hand reached for his pocket, clearly itching for a cigarette, but he seemed to think the better of it, and he lowered his hand, resting it on his knee.

Rose glanced up at him. "Forget your cigs?" she asked, smiling.

"No," answered Nadir, continuing his observation of her.

She arrived at a stopping-point and put down the stretcher.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked as she dusted off her hands. "Did I grow another head?"

"Forgive me," said Nadir. "It wasn´t my intention to stare.

"I´m afraid that I´m about to offend you further by invading your privacy, Rose," he continued. "You see, I know that you are expecting a baby."

Rose froze for a minute. "How could you know?"

"I´ll explain later. I feel that you and I are very close, Rose…"

"Yeah, well, we´ve been lovers, but I guess it´s over now," she said brusquely. Tears started in her eyes, belying her harsh tone of voice. She wiped them away with the back of her hands.

Nadir approached her and took her into his arms.

"It´s not nearly over, Rose," he murmured.

She looked at him, incredulity gracing her features.

"Look, you know the baby´s not yours, don´t you?" she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "You haven´t come here thinking that the protection you were using failed somehow, right…?"

Nadir winced and held up his hands. _Stop! _

"I´m perfectly aware of the truth, Rose."

"It was a fling I had just before I met you, Nadir. The guy turned out to be a jerk, though, and I haven´t seen him since…"

"Please, Rose. I require no explanations. I am here for an entirely different reason. Haven´t we been friends, you and I? Haven´t we been lovers? I shall not abandon you, Rose. If you permit, we will assume a new truth: I am and will continue to be the father of your child. I will care for you and this child for as long as I live, if you consent to it." His voice was soft, but firm.

Rose stared at Nadir in shock for the full length of a minute, then burst into noisy tears. He held her, patting her back gently as she sobbed.

"There, there," he murmured. "It´s not so bad, now, is it?"

"You´re too good to be true," she sobbed.

"Oh, I wouldn´t say that," said Nadir. "I snore terribly, I keep dreadful hours, and I smoke like a chimney. I´m a terrible cook and a worse housekeeper, and I won´t tell you what my insurance agent has said about my driving…"

In his arms, Rose hiccoughed her laughter.

* * *

For days, Erik and Christine were loath to leave the bedroom, so they took little note of Nadir´s absence from their study.

Erik´s newfound peace surprised Christine. She had not given any thought to the idea that marriage could change a man – after all, it was common knowledge that the opposite was true. _Erik is different, _she reminded herself for the thousandth time.

His response to her touch was another surprise. She had spent so much of their time together simply responding to his advances – or pushing him away – that she had not had time to take the initiative physically. He had been startled and had stiffened the first few times she had kissed and touched him – then, he had leaned into her touch anxiously. As a consequence, she touched him whenever an opportunity arose – and they arose often, since they were alone together.

They hardly slept and scarcely ate.

Finally, the outside world could no longer be neglected, and Erik was obliged to answer e-mails, phone calls, and finally to sit down to reams of paperwork at his desk. At his request, Christine remained in the study with him.

She decided to clean. Although Erik was a scrupulously clean person, there were years of dust and cobwebs in some of the more recondite corners of the study. He glanced at her as she picked a spider up in her dustpan and headed out toward the garden with it.

"Why not simply kill it? It would save you trouble," he said curiously.

"Hey, I _like _spiders!" she protested, and she escorted the creature out the door.

The farthest corner of a cabinet yielded a particularly unpleasant surprise, and Erik rose to his feet and approached as Christine stifled a scream and dropped something.

"I had completely forgotten about those," he said, taking Christine, who was still shaking, into his arms.

"_Those?_ There are more than one? How many are there, and how is it you ended up with _shrunken heads?"_

"There are five," he said simply. The head Christine had dropped on the floor had rolled to its side; it appeared to sleep, its prominent jaw lending it a permanent pout.

"Erik, these people need a decent burial," Christine said, shuddering.

"That won´t be necessary. They´ve been dead for about eighty years now…"

"I don´t care! I´ll…I´ll bury them and pray over them in the garden. Surely we can do _something…"_

"As you wish. I´ll leave the praying to _you, _however; I doubt that an animist would appreciate being buried according to Christian ritual."

Erik prepared a plot for the heads in the garden, then retreated into the study as Christine buried them. Nadir found him at his piano, scribbling on stave paper furiously.

"Inspired, are we? I take it the honeymoon is going well," he said as he sat down to observe Erik´s efforts. Erik surfaced long enough to glance at him and offer him a curt greeting, then turned to the piano and picked out something sprightly in G major.

Nadir smiled. "And where´s your bride?"

"In the garden, burying heads," responded Erik, still scribbling.

Nadir froze and stared at Erik, then drew a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and contemplated it sadly. "I had succeeded in quitting for three days, Erik…three days! Three minutes with you, however, have been enough to subvert my efforts entirely."

"Done!" said Christine, as she entered the study and shelved her prayer-book. "Oh, hello, Mr. Khan! How´s Rose?"

"Fine, just fine. I think she´s finally learning to eat decently," commented Nadir, smiling. "I´ll be taking her to the New Year´s Eve Ball, and I´ve come to ask whether you two will be coming. I know you´ve never cared to attend, Erik, but now that you´re a properly-harnessed married man, perhaps you´d like to show off your new wife."

"Will we be going, Erik?" asked Christine, moving to stand behind him, then rubbing his shoulders affectionately.

Erik closed his eyes, enraptured.

"Well?" Nadir persisted.

"Mmmm…? Yes," murmured Erik. "Of course."

"Then I´ll tell Rose. She _will _be pleased. She´s new to this sort of thing, and it will be of comfort to her to have a friend at the Ball, Christine."

"I´ll call Meg and Rose, then, and we can all go shopping together," said Christine. She was kneading Erik´s shoulders again, and she glanced down at him, a devilish light in her eyes. He missed it; _his_ eyes were still closed. _Something sexy to wear on New Year´s Eve, _mused Christine happily.


	26. Chapter 26

**Greetings, everyone! I´m so sorry I´ve been slow to update. I´ve had the flu, and it´s slowed me down considerably. **

**Many thanks to all those who have troubled themselves to leave a review after reading! I really appreciate it. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**Rose met Christine outside the Modern, and they both entered the waiting limousine.

"Ready for a major shopping trip? – sorry, what I meant to say was: Are you ready for some major capitalist decadence?" Christine teased Rose. Rose´s political leanings seemed to invite such jibes, and usually she was ready with a quick retort. Today she was silent, however.

Christine´s smile faded as she looked at her friend. Rose seemed pale and nervous.

"Are you okay? Listen, I know you didn´t exactly announce it, but congratulations on your pregnancy. I know Mr. Khan must be happy…"

She fell silent as she realized that Rose was fighting tears. She put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Rose, what´s wrong? I know this was probably unexpected, but it´s not the end of the world," Christine ventured. "Mr. Khan clearly cares for you…"

"Do you think he really does?" interrupted Rose. "I mean, as a _woman_?"

"Why would he be dating you if he didn´t?" asked Christine, confused. "What´s going on? Has he done something unkind to you?"

The tears Rose had been holding back began to fall. "No!" she sobbed. "Never! That´s just it! You don´t know…you have _no idea _what an incredible person he is. If you only _knew…" _

Her sobs prevented her from continuing, and Christine rubbed her shoulder in awkward sympathy and extracted a handkerchief from her purse. This seemed to amuse Rose, and she giggled slightly amid her sobs.

"Leave it to you to carry a hanky in your purse! I don´t know anyone else under seventy who does," she said, but she accepted it and blew her nose into it.

"Look, Christine, you were really always my friend, so I´ll tell you what´s going on with me. Please don´t laugh. I´ve fallen in love with Nadir."

Christine stared at her in surprise for a few seconds, unable to think of an appropriate response.

"I always thought you were in love with Mr. Khan, Rose. You´re intimate with him, aren´t you?"

"You are _so _naïve!" snarled Rose, her sudden change in demeanor startling Christine into stunned silence. "Do you think I´ve ever been in love with any of the guys I´ve hooked up with? It´s always been casual, Christine – I never wanted to give up my freedom, and neither did they! Then Nadir came along, and I thought he was just another man – I mean, very interesting and intelligent and all that, but just a friend. But he did something the other day – it was Christmas Day, imagine that…"

"What did he do?"

"I can´t tell you, Christine, but it was magnificent, and it just left me with this incredible, new feeling about him…"

"He must be really good in bed, then," ventured Christine, smiling.

"Don´t be a bitch – there is no way in hell that a man can impress me under the covers anymore. It was something he _did _for me, something really deep. It hit me like a brick! It was as if I looked and saw a _man,_ a real man, for the first time in my life!"

The door of the limousine opened again, and Meg entered.

"Sorry I´m late! We can get going now. Ready to shop till we drop?" She glanced at Rose´s face. "Did I miss something?"

"Well…" began Christine, wondering whether what Rose had told her was confidential.

"Yeah," cut in Rose. "I was just telling Christine that I´m in love with Nadir and I´m not sure how he feels about me. You´ve known Nadir for years, though, Meg. Has he dated a lot of women?"

"Tons of them," said Meg cheerfully, "and he always ends up on good terms with them, but his relationships always _end. _He´s really nice to them, though. He has more lady friends…"

"I _know!" _snapped Rose. "But I don´t want to end up being just another one of _those!_"

Meg looked surprised. "Sorry, Rose – you know I´ve seen you around with Mr. Khan, and I never got the feeling that you were really _into _him."

She looked at Rose carefully, her eyes narrowing as she assessed her. "So, you _are _into him, and you want to do something to impress him, right? I know where this is going! You want to shine at the New Year´s Ball! Well, you just relax…"

The limousine started to move as Meg spoke.

"We´re going shopping, you know! You just relax and let us glam you up! You won´t recognize yourself, and Mr. Khan won´t believe his eyes!"

"I…can´t, really," said Rose, blushing. "See, there´s this money issue…"

"Oh, don´t worry about _that_!" said Christine, happy to finally be of help. "I´ll foot the bill. That´ll be my treat. But Meg will have to be the one to pick the dress for you. She´s the expert on that sort of thing…"

"Hmmm…" said Meg, examining Rose carefully. "I´m going to do more than that for you, Rose. This should be fun! I mean, you have a _lot _of potential, girl! You´ve been a hippy for far too long, and I think you have a really nice figure hiding under those sacks you use for clothes. We´re going to buy you makeup, too. You´re an incredible natural blonde, so your hair is great, but we need to dye your eyebrows and eyelashes…we´ll go to a salon for that, and we´ll do up your hair, too."

"Don´t you have to worry about getting _yourself _fixed up?" asked Rose.

"I already have what I need, except for shoes," said Meg, "and I´m not in the mood to impress _my _date. Raoul can be such a jerk! He´s always looking at other women when we´re out together, no matter what I´m wearing. Now he wants a commitment. Yeah, right! Like I´m stupid enough to commit to someone who does _that _to me. I bet he´s even dating someone else on the side!"

While Meg busied herself with Rose at Sterling´s, _the _high-end boutique, Christine looked at dresses. After long consideration, she decided to try one on. Meg looked at her as she emerged from the dressing-room.

"Wow! That´s sure…" she said, and searched for words. "Perfect!"

The dress Christine had selected was a deep red, and though it was not revealing in any way, there was something subtly _sexy _about it. It concealed her flesh, yet slightly-bared shoulders hinted at more and the eye was naturally drawn downwards to appreciate the curves of her figure. There was not even much leg revealed, but what _was _revealed had a titillating effect. Christine did not need to look at herself twice in the mirror to realize that Erik could have no objections to the dress on the grounds of modesty – yet _it would drive him crazy._ She smiled to herself.

They returned to the Modern, the limousine laden with boxes and bags, and Meg glowed with triumph.

"You´ll see, Rose! After I´ve finished with you, Mr. Khan will never see you as an asexual mushroom again," she chortled.

"I _hope _not," said Rose dryly. "I just wish there were _something _that could make him feel about me the way I feel about him…"

"Well, now that you mention it, the person to go to for love potions is sitting right here!" declared Meg, and she turned to look pointedly at Christine.

Christine started and stared back at Meg, a deer caught in the headlights.

"Now, Meg…"

"Love potions?" asked Rose, looking at Christine with a frightening mixture of hope and scepticism.

"Potions of all kinds! Actually, it´s her hubby who _has _them, but I bet she could wheedle him out of an aphrodisiac of _some _kind!"

"Meg!" said Christine reproachfully. "I´m not supposed to go anywhere near his…his _remedies_! I don´t know how to use them, and I sure don´t want to kill poor Mr. Khan!"

As she spoke, her mind flew to a pinkish powder kept in a jar within Erik´s antique secretary. He _had _explained the properties of various of his elixirs to Christine, and he had smiled slightly as he picked _this_ particular jar up. _The pharmaceutical industry would kill for this substance, Christine. One gram mixed into about one hundred centilitres of liquid, and you have an aphrodisiac beyond compare…_

Rose must have interpreted Christine´s pensive look correctly.

"But you _do _have something I could give him! You do, don´t you?" she asked.

"Rose, you would _drug _Mr. Khan?"

"Please, Christine! I´m absolutely desperate! I _need _to get his attention!"

"I think you _have _his attention. You´re going to have a child together, aren´t you?"

"Oh, God! If you knew…at any rate, in a few months, I´ll look like a whale. And…Christine, please understand. I need this. I love him so much, and he just sees me as a basket case he´s helping out!"

"That can´t be true, Rose. He sees so much more in you…"

"_Please, _Christine…_please!_" Rose began to cry again.

"I…Oh, Rose! Okay! I´ll get it for you, okay?" Christine sighed, defeated.

* * *

Christine waited for an opportunity to rummage through Erik´s secretary, but she was beginning to despair. Their honeymoon was far from over, and Erik was with her constantly. He had few business duties demanding his attention during the holidays, and what little he had he had delegated to Nadir.

_A few hours more, and it __will be time for the Ball to begin_…

"I have not yet seen the dress you plan to wear," Erik said, his voice cutting into her thoughts. Christine looked at him and smiled. His lips were pressed together. He was expecting the dress she had bought to be another instrument of rebellion. _The irony! _

"I wanted it to be a surprise, Erik, but if you insist on seeing it, it´s hanging at the far end of the closet, under a plastic cover."

He gave her a penetrating glance and disappeared from the study. Christine flew to his secretary the moment he had left and, locating the powder she sought, carefully tapped a small quantity – she hoped it was about a gram – into a tiny plastic container she had reserved for her purpose. She had only just had time to replace everything and resume her place on the sofa when Erik returned.

"The dress is acceptable," he said curtly, and he held her eyes with his gaze for a long moment. _Could he know? No! _

"I thought you would approve of it," responded Christine. The gown looked innocuous enough on its hanger.

Three hours later, she was wearing it – her hair was long and loose, and she had done everything within her power to appear seductive to her husband. _Let´s hope this works!_

She secreted the powder she had filched into her handbag and went to join Erik in the study. He was waiting, and she paused to look at him for a breathless moment.

He was immaculately dressed in a dark tuxedo. A black Spanish cloak with a silver fastening completed his ensemble, the first tier of dark wool fabric cascading down to accentuate his powerful shoulders. The cloak itself extended to his mid-calf, and Christine noticed that its lining was of dark red satin. He turned to look at her, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his mask bright in the soft lights of the study.

His eyes darkened, and the hand that held the whiskey trembled.

"Christine…" he rasped.

"Are we ready?" chirped Nadir, entering the study just as Erik had taken a step in Christine´s direction.

"Oh…yes, very!" Christine replied, relieved at the interruption. She knew the look in her husband´s eyes, and was worried now that her plan to seduce him was working too well. _I want us in bed _after _the Ball, not before!_

"Nadir….as opportune as ever, I see," Erik hissed. "I wish for a moment with my wife, please, before we leave."

"Honeymooners!" exclaimed Nadir, rolling his eyes. "Very well, very well, but I hope you won´t take too long. I´m to meet Rose in the ballroom at eight o´clock sharp, and I wouldn´t want her wandering about unaccompanied."

Erik kissed Christine deeply the second that Nadir left the room. He pressed her to himself tightly, and she could feel him fighting for control as he held her.

"You _knew _what effect this would have on me," he whispered roughly.

"No, Erik, I really didn´t, but I was hoping I might be attractive to you," she answered.

"_Might be attractive?" _he hissed.

"You look marvellous, Erik! I can hardly wait until this evening´s over," she added seductively, and she looked up at him coyly. He was not amused.

"The devil take the Ball!" said Erik, and he gathered Christine into his arms.

"Now, Erik!" she began, just as Nadir reentered.

"Are you two ready yet?" he asked, then froze when he saw that Erik was carrying Christine. "What´s wrong? Has she hurt herself?"

"No, but she is going to kill _me_!" snarled Erik, who had finally gained enough self-control to ease Christine to the floor.

"Please, Erik – can´t we go now?" pleaded Christine.

He paused for a moment, collecting himself.

"Forgive me," he said, bringing her gently to his side and offering her his arm.

* * *

The ballroom had been festooned with tinsel and wreaths of holly and pine. A full orchestra played, and the crème of society had shown up in its most festive formal attire to dance until the stroke of midnight. The revelry had begun at an early hour, and the punch flowed freely, while bottles of champagne awaited the New Year.

Christine scanned the ballroom for Rose, clutching at her evening bag.

"Permit me," said Erik, and he took her bag to hand her some punch and canapés.

"Oh," said Christine, startling, as she continued to scan the room for Rose. "Thank you."

Nadir had frozen in shock. "Rose?" he ventured, his voice trembling slightly.

Christine followed his gaze and smiled. Rose was at the middle of a klatch with Meg and Raoul, and she was resplendent in a light blue and green gown. _Beautiful! _ Christine thought to herself, and Rose _was_ beautiful indeed. Her blonde hair had been coiffed into soft waves which fell over her shoulders, and her face had been made up to perfection. At the moment, she looked somewhat nonplussed, because there was a man leaning into her, chatting with her. His stance seemed somewhat aggressive – he was definitely encroaching on Rose´s personal space.

Nadir snarled and headed in her direction, and Christine stared after him, shocked.

"Did Mr. Khan just _snarl?_" she asked Erik.

"Yes, it would seem so," he said, looking at the drama with amusement. "It occurs to me, Christine, that you did not tell me about your shopping trip. I am all curiosity! Please describe what happened."

Christine gave him a very edited version of what was said and done during the trip: Rose had wished to look attractive, and Meg had helped her. Erik´s eyes held hers as she spoke, and it was all she could do not to drop her gaze. There was a long silence between them after she had finished.

"You will tell me the entire truth before the night is over," he said simply.

Christine swallowed and glanced involuntarily in Rose´s direction. Nadir had reached her and separated her from her obnoxious friend, and they were now absorbed in deep conversation.

"Mr. DeJongh!" a female voice greeted Erik, and he and Christine turned to look at an attractive brunette in a dark blue dress. "Hi, I´m Jenna Moore – the _Society _editor for the _Post_?"

Erik managed a nod, but his stance was stiff, nearly hostile, and his eyes were guarded. Ms. Moore seemed to notice this, and she turned her attention to Christine.

"Mrs. DeJongh!" she said, taking her hand, "Congratulations on your marriage! Now, you _are _the elusive one, aren´t you? There isn´t a single reporter on our staff who has managed to speak with you! Why, you were a delicious Mimì! Could you at least tell me what future roles you plan to take on?"

"We will release that information in due course," interrupted Erik. "In future, my wife will be undertaking somewhat more challenging roles, which is to be expected in an artist of her calibre."

Ms. Moore turned her full attention to Erik now, happy to have elicited a reaction from him, and dropped all pretence of speaking with Christine.

"And I suppose that we can be expecting more works from your pen, Mr. DeJongh – speaking of high calibre," she said, directing a look at Erik which Christine did not at all like.

"Perhaps," responded Erik. Any other man would have warmed to Ms. Moore immediately, but Erik was more tense and guarded than ever. Nonetheless, the reporter pressed on.

"Any grand opus to share with the world? Anything new to expect? Don´t tell me that your recent marriage has chased the Muse away!"

"Quite the opposite! My marriage, in fact, has inspired my latest pieces," snapped Erik.

"And what kind of 'pieces' are they? Do they at least have a working title?" inquired Ms. Moore.

"I believe that the most recent was entitled, 'My Wife has Buried my Heads in the Garden,'" Erik hissed, glaring at Ms. Moore in frank dislike.

"It´s an inside joke!" Christine called over her shoulder as Erik guided her quickly away from the reporter and her questions. Ms. Moore stared after them with an expression of shock.

Christine discovered, as the evening wore on, that Erik was not a social person. She had very easily forgotten his reputation as a recluse; after all, did he not walk with her outdoors and engage her in easy conversation whenever they were alone? Yet it was clear he did not welcome third persons, with the possible exception of Nadir. Every time he and Christine were approached, Erik would become tense and hostile, and the veneer of civility which covered his icy demeanor only made things worse. He refused to mix, and kept Christine by his side during the entire evening. She was beginning to despair of an opportunity to speak with Rose and give her the powder she still kept hidden in her purse.

A sudden roar from the middle of the ballroom attracted Christine´s attention, and she craned her neck in order to see.

"Erik…" she said, grasping his arm, "Is that Mr. Khan?"

Indeed it was! The young man who had been talking with Rose at the beginning of the evening had not been dissuaded by Nadir, and now they were embroiled in a very raucous, very physical, fight. Nadir was taking the brunt of the conflict and already bore a black eye, but he lunged towards the other man now and delivered an unconvincing blow to his jaw. Rose looked on in horror.

"I would never have dreamed he had it in him," said Erik, smiling coolly.

"Erik! Please! You can´t let him beat up Mr. Khan!"

"Hmmm? Oh, very well, very well," sighed Erik, and he sliced through the crowd towards Nadir with Christine trailing in his wake. Christine noticed several security people fighting their way through the crowd as well.

Erik confronted the young man, who ventured a swing at him. Erik easily blocked the blow, grasped his arm, and pinned his arms behind him with apparent ease. He handed the hothead to a security man, and as he delivered some quick instructions, Christine rummaged through her purse. _The powder was gone! _

She looked at Rose, who was tenderly attending to Nadir´s injuries. She seemed unconcerned about obtaining her aphrodisiac at the moment, fortunately.

As she stood and assessed the situation, Christine became aware of a rather uncomfortable tingling sensation. It seemed to originate in her most intimate parts and spread a warmth throughout her body. She looked at the glass of punch she had been holding, then dared a glance at Erik, who, having just dispatched the hooligan, was now staring at her through the crowd. He smiled at her slowly and made his way towards her.


	27. Chapter 27

**Greetings, and happy Wednesday! Here´s another long chapter. I believe I´m nearing the end of this story, and I´m hoping it´s not becoming a bore. I´ve found it´s much more difficult to **_**end**_** a story than to begin one. **

**I´m deeply grateful to all those who have reviewed. Bless you! You keep me going.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**Pain. Not intense pain – simply a dull, throbbing pain to remind Christine of last night´s events. She had wanted greater pain – she had nearly _begged _Erik to tear her apart, to somehow break her and put her back together again, to transform her willing tissue into something which would always bear the mark of their night together.

She shifted slightly in the bed, coming slowly into wakefulness, observing the winter sunlight as it cast light and shadows on the red sheets. Her thoughts were still centered on Erik. She thought lazily of the disastrous state their home was in this morning -- of the blankets and champagne bottle on the kitchen table, and of the red dress which Erik had obligingly shredded. There were scraps of her dress all over the house now.

The rope sat, bunched up and unused, on the floor. _What do you take me for? _Erik had asked her, shocked and aghast, when she had suggested that he might bind her with it. Something about the very suggestion of it had disturbed him deeply, and he had coupled with her much more gently than she had wished that time.

It seemed that erotic games were out of the question. Love was what was behind Erik´s need for her, and it seemed to have sublimated much of what was purely sexual, entirely biological. When was he more _sexual? _When he _needed _her, it seemed – when he needed comfort and reassurance. In the days which had passed since their marriage, he had been sensual, but gentle and tender in his sexual expressions. He was so different when his message was _I love you – _a long way from the brutal Erik of _I need you. _

She had certainly needed _him _last night, and he had been more than willing to oblige. She was embarrassed now to think of the effect the drug had had on her. She had been aroused as she had watched Erik approach her, but when he had touched her, she could scarcely contain herself. He had been eager for her, as well, but he was much more in control of himself, and if she was sore now, it was because of the number of times they had made love. He had wanted her – he had wanted her badly – but he had never been rough.

"How do you feel?" Erik asked, entering with a cup of something hot and steaming.

"Mmmm…" she answered sleepily. "Happy New Year…"

"How do you _feel?_" persisted Erik, and he sat on the bed beside her and scrutinized her.

"Great!" she answered. "Never better."

It was true. In spite of the soreness, an ineffable sense of _wellbeing _reigned within her. She smiled up at Erik, batting her lashes theatrically.

He looked shocked but pleased, and he set the cup on the night table and bent to kiss her. Her fingers luxuriated in the hair near the nape of his neck, and he broke the kiss to look at her carefully.

"I thought you might be somewhat…somewhat sore, so I have brought you something."

She continued to look up at him dreamily. He examined her, doubt in his eyes.

"The effects of the drug should have worn off by now…should have worn off several hours ago. If you would please drink this…"

"_Drink me!_" giggled Christine. "If I drink this one, will it make me tall?"

"You will feel less sore," explained Erik patiently. "After last night´s rather strenuous activity…"

"Ten hours of non-stop sex!" clarified Christine. Erik looked slightly discomfited.

"How much of that aphrodisiac did _you _take, Erik?" she asked, trailing a lazy finger down from his collarbone to where he had buttoned his shirt. She worked at the top button.

"I did not take any," he mumbled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I did not take any of that particular substance, since I did not require it."

Christine stared at Erik, propping herself up on an elbow.

"You mean, we spent ten hours doing nothing but what we did – I don´t remember how many times it was – and you didn´t need any _help?_" she asked, her eyes wide.

Another man might have grinned triumphantly, laughed, or shown his pride in some way, but Erik merely looked uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassed. He cleared his throat and took up the reins of the conversation once more.

"I must emphasize, Christine, how very little I appreciated your little foray into my pharmacopoeia…"

"I didn´t mean any harm, Erik! You know now what I wanted to do!" she interrupted.

"And you measured out somewhat more than a gram of the substance you appropriated. Tell me, Christine, did you intend for Nadir Khan to die?"

"I was hoping for the opposite effect – and you know why," she murmured.

"Careful measuring and dosage are important -- which is why I trust only myself with the contents of that secretary. You are not to touch it at all – never, unless under my supervision, and I hope that last night served as a lesson to you."

_That was a lesson to me? _Christine tried to repress her mirth, but Erik´s grim demeanor proved to be too tempting for her.

"Yes, Erik – it was _quite _a lesson," she said, trying to appear as contrite as possible. Then, quite suddenly, she grasped him firmly by the shirt and pulled him off-balance, so that he was atop her.

"May I have the next lesson, now, Maestro? I fear that I´m in dire – yes, _dire _– need of the type of _education _you offered me last night. Oh, pretty please?"

She kissed him soundly on his unmasked face, and her hands teased him.

"You would play with fire," he gasped, but he responded to her, kissing her deeply. He was _not _teasing.

They did not emerge from bed until late afternoon.

* * *

Christine´s cellphone rang, and she picked it up, yawning.

"You must have given it to Nadir before he joined me," ventured Rose´s voice.

"Given what?" asked Christine, stretching.

"You know – of _course _you know – the famous aphrodisiac, honey! I´m calling to thank you, you know. We had quite a night…"

"I didn´t get it to him, Rose. Erik intercepted me."

There was a moment of silence.

"You mean to tell me that _that…_was _him_?" Rose asked.

"'Fraid so," said Christine cheerfully. "You´re stuck with it!"

"Oh…my…God!"

"Rose, you´re an atheist!"

"Not anymore!"

"Um…okay. How is he now? He got a pretty nasty black eye last night," commented Christine.

"I´ve had a wonderful time nursing him. He´s feeling much better. In fact, I think he´ll pay you a visit this evening. He can´t smoke around me, and he´s really climbing the walls."

* * *

The lights in the study were dimmed when Nadir entered that evening, newspaper in hand. He scanned the room, noticing its untidiness. A plant and its stand had been knocked over, and there were shards of broken ceramic on the floor. It looked as though a bull had made its way through the room and headed directly to the kitchen.

He shook his head, clucked his tongue in disapproval, and began to tidy up. He found a torn-up piece of red satin on the floor and stuffed it distractedly into the pocket where he kept his cigarettes. He finished picking up the shards of ceramic and, dusting his hands off, finally sat down in his favourite chair and lit up his longed-for cigarette. He immersed himself in the newspaper.

The door opened, and Erik and Christine entered, engaged in animated conversation.

"…and it doesn´t matter at all! I caused it, and I don´t mind cleaning it up," Christine was saying.

"I can call someone who will do it for us in a question of minutes, Christine," Erik answered, and he grasped her by the elbow, stopping her.

"Well, it looks as if the elves have already been in to clean in here," she commented as she surveyed the study. "Hello, Mr. Khan!"

"Greetings, Christine – Erik," said Nadir, lowering the newspaper. "Forgive me if I don´t get up, but I feel rather beat-up this evening…"

"Oh, please, don´t worry about that!" said Christine. "How´s your eye?"

Erik, who had stiffened upon seeing Nadir, interrupted.

"What are _you _doing here?" he growled.

"Erik! Please don´t growl! He´s trying to read the newspaper," said Christine.

"I don´t want him here! We´ve scarcely been married a week, and he has the temerity to invade our home!"

"He´s not _invading_, Erik. We´re very fond of Mr. Khan, aren´t we? Please stay," she said to the newspaper in front of Nadir. Nadir continued to absorb himself in its pages, wilfully oblivious to the argument that raged around him.

"Please _go," _snarled Erik.

"Erik, I want him to stay," said Christine.

"I want him out! We have a right to our privacy!"

"I enjoy a bit of company, and this is my home, too, isn´t it, Erik?"

"You would call _that _company?" argued Erik, indicating Nadir. Nadir continued hidden behind his newspaper, and only a steady column of cigarette smoke betrayed his presence there.

"Well…yes!" insisted Christine.

"Bless you," murmured Nadir from behind the newspaper. He turned the page.

"You do not know him as I do, Christine," hissed Erik. "For example, he has a habit of discovering the most inappropriate things," whereupon Erik leaned over Nadir and pulled the red satin scrap out of his pocket without disturbing the newspaper. "Perhaps you recognize _this_?"

"Oh…" said Christine, and her cheeks flushed. "That was the front of my dress!"

Nadir lowered the newspaper slowly, realization slowly spreading over his features. "Oh, dear," he managed.

"Dear is what this is going to cost you," hissed Erik, and he had just taken a step in Nadir´s direction when the bell rang.

Christine started in the direction of the door, but Erik stopped her, his eyes conveying stern prohibition, and he turned on his heel to answer the door himself.

* * *

Outside, Raoul de Chagny waited nervously. The idea that Christine herself might not be the one to answer the bell had not occurred to him, and he suddenly found himself face-to-face with Erik DeJongh, whose mask looked even more sinister in the half-light.

Erik stared at Raoul balefully, while the younger man offered him a panicked stare. He felt his legs might fail him at any second.

After about one minute of mutual silence, Erik closed the door in Raoul´s face.

* * *

"Who was that?" asked Christine as she served a glass of cognac to Nadir, who accepted it with alacrity.

"My word -- the hospitality here has improved remarkably," Nadir remarked happily, completely recovered from his earlier embarrassment.

"Nobody of consequence," muttered Erik. "Security has become rather lax of late. I must speak with someone…"

The bell rang again, this time more insistently.

"Now he has had time to become angry with himself, the pup!" snarled Erik. "Curse his persistence!"

He went to the door once more, but this time Christine trailed him.

"Look," said Raoul, trying to control the tremor in his voice, "I really need to talk to Christine."

"No," said Erik, filling the doorway. Christine succeeded in peeking around him, however.

"Erik! Of course he can! I have the right to receive visits from my friends!"

"_This _is not a friend. _This _is…"

"Erik, please!" She nudged Erik, who moved with graceful resignation to the side and permitted Raoul to enter. The walls of the foyer seemed to hiss as Raoul passed, and he hurried his step.

Nadir lowered his newspaper slightly to glance at Raoul with mild surprise, but he resumed reading it immediately.

"Great place, Christine," commented Raoul with an air of awkward civility, looking around the study. He brightened upon catching sight of a gold ingot decorating one of the shelves. "Hey! Is that real?" he asked, making a beeline towards it.

"_Stop!" _shouted Christine, and Raoul jumped and turned to face her. "No…no, Raoul, it´s not real," she lied quietly, "but please don´t touch it." _He would have to focus on THAT! _

Behind her, Erik smiled maliciously.

"Perhaps you might explain your urgent need to speak with my wife?" he said with patent coldness.

"Um, oh, yeah," said Raoul, running his hand through his hair. "It´s … um, well…can I talk to her alone?"

"_No," _said Erik, his lips curling into a sneer.

"It´s about me and Meg! I really could use her advice," Raoul insisted.

"If it´s advice you seek, boy, I am certain that _I _can be of assistance," hissed Erik, folding his arms. There was a snort from behind the newspaper. "Perhaps _you _have something to contribute, Nadir, expert as you are in matters of the heart?" he added, glaring in Nadir´s direction.

"Well, now that you mention it, I might be of some use," said Nadir, lowering and folding the newspaper briskly and stubbing out his cigarette. He leaned forward to regard Raoul, smiling indulgently. "What seems to be your problem?"

"Oh, hi, Mr. Khan," said Raoul cheerfully. "How´s your eye? I´m sure glad they stopped that fight before that guy finished you off. At _your_ age -- well, you know, I think he shoulda shown a lot more respect and left you alone, ya know?"

Nadir´s smile faded, Erik´s grin broadened and gained malice, and Christine excused herself and left the room to look for a drink for Raoul.

Nadir picked up the newspaper again. "I am truly sorry," he snapped, "but in order to help you, a cure would have to be discovered for _verborrhea."_

"What?" said Raoul.

"You are to be commended. You have succeeded in offending my associate, which is nearly impossible. Lord knows _I _try," said Erik, who was clearly beginning to enjoy himself.

Raoul stared at Erik and shifted on his feet awkwardly. When Christine came back into the room with his drink, he looked extremely relieved and permitted her to guide him to a chair.

"So, Raoul, what´s the deal with Meg now? Weren´t you two okay last night?" asked Christine.

Raoul glanced at Erik, then decided to plunge ahead.

"Yeah, we were okay. And we _are _okay, I think. We fight a lot, but we´re _together, _you know, and that´s really what matters. We love each other. I mean, I love Meg, and I´m pretty sure she loves me, even if I make her mad a lot. This is the longest relationship I´ve ever had.

"Anyhow, I´ve been thinking about the next step, you know? You know, _the _big step?"

"Big step? Oh, you mean marriage?" asked Christine.

"Uh…yeah! But I really don´t know how she feels about it, so I was kinda wondering if you´d feel her out, Christine – you know, get an idea what she might say if I ask her."

"You´re afraid of rejection," said Christine slowly. She felt slightly irritated by him – years of childhood worship of Raoul had yielded her the worst kind of rejection: the absence of any reaction at all. _And now he wants me to shield him from the possibility of a "no"! _She sighed. Raoul seemed destined to blunder through life annoying people, no matter how much time passed.

"I´d just like you to get an idea how she feels about it, Christine," he answered. "You´ll do that, won´t you?"

Christine decided to gain ground on Meg´s behalf. "And what about you?" she asked. "Last I heard, you had this habit of looking other women up and down while out with her. I hear it´s a habit that keeps coming back!"

"That doesn´t mean a thing, Christine," Raoul answered. "I know it makes her mad, but I don´t even know when I´m doing it. I mean, I _tried _not to, but then I had to give up!"

"Maybe you didn´t try hard enough!" snapped Christine, and Raoul stared at her. The Christine he knew was the dreamy-eyed young woman who had adored him so much she would never have crossed him. He was not certain how to deal with this newer, more spirited incarnation of her. His eyes flicked to Erik, who was watching the exchange with evident amusement, his arms still folded.

"Look, maybe this was a bad idea," he mumbled, starting to get out of his chair. "You don´t need to do anything…"

"Wait…wait!" said Christine, sighing. "I´ll do it for you, Raoul. Of course I´ll do it for you! But I want you to try to do something new for us all. I want you to actually start _listening_ to Meg and working on the little things you do that hurt her. Could you do that?"

"Of course I´ll do that! I´m a good listener!" said Raoul with an offended air.

"Oh, dear," said Christine. "We really _should _talk. Look, I´ll get you another drink and something to snack on. You stay right there. You and I have a few things to straighten out…"

"Okay, whatever…" said Raoul distractedly as he stared at one of Erik´s owl sculptures. He settled back in his chair as Christine went into the kitchen to refresh his drink.

"_How long_, exactly, is that boy going to linger in our study?" hissed Erik, following her into the kitchen.

"I´m sorry, Erik. I have _got _to convince Raoul to behave himself better when he´s out with Meg, and I´m not sure how to do it, so it may take a while."

"I could accomplish that in five minutes," said Erik, and Christine turned to look at him questioningly. He was serious.

"I…I wouldn´t want you to change his personality," said Christine thoughtfully. _I´m actually considering this seriously!_

Erik dismissed the notion with an elegant wave of his hand. "Hypnosis does not destroy the personality, but it is quite capable of eliminating certain bad habits," he illuminated.

"So…you could guarantee that Raoul would lose the habit of looking at other women – even of chasing them?" Christine ventured.

"Done!" Erik said, putting an affectionate arm around her waist. "If you would please evict the boy as soon as I have finished with him…?"

"Fine!" Christine said, smiling up at him.

A sudden metallic wrenching noise and a scream, along with a dull thud, interrupted their conversation, and they hurried into the study to see what had happened. The gold ingot Raoul had admired earlier had disappeared, and the trapdoor he had been standing on when he picked up the ingot had been triggered.

"Oh, no!" sighed Christine. "He was never good at listening!"

"Don´t worry, my love, he hasn´t gone far," reassured Erik. They could hear a moan coming from beneath the open trapdoor.

"In fact, this will make my work much easier!" he added delightedly, and he went to the edge of the opening in the floor to peer down.

Nadir turned another page, then lowered the newspaper to look at Erik, Christine, and the open trapdoor. "I must say, Erik, how much more entertaining these evenings with you have become!"

He returned to his newspaper, smiling slightly.


	28. Chapter 28

**Another update! This one is a bit shorter, though, I think. **

**Blessings and graces on those kind souls who have reviewed! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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"I wish I knew what the _hell _has gotten into Raoul lately," commented Meg a week later over lunch.

"What do you mean?" asked Christine, looking at her friend carefully. She had expected Meg to be happier now that Raoul was no longer devouring other women with his eyes. Instead, she looked worried.

"I mean, he isn´t quite the … _animal _… he used to be. He´s nice and all, and we have a great relationship, but it´s kind of boring now. It´s weird. He´s beginning to listen to me…"

"Isn´t that what you wanted? Didn´t you want Raoul to stop skirt-chasing and start listening? What´s wrong?"

"Well, there´s something that´s not quite right about it. He´s just not himself."

"Ah. Well, I think he´s trying his best to be what you need, Meg. You know, I sometimes think he might want more of a commitment with you."

Meg laughed uproariously. "Are you kidding? You´re not talking about _marriage_, are you? Oh, come on! You know me better than that!"

"Well, no, Meg. I _don´t_ know you better than that," said Christine, confused. "Do you think you could tell me what it is you want from Raoul?"

"Well, for the time being, just an exclusive relationship, that´s all. Can you see the two of us married? We´d drive each other nuts!"

"Don´t you love him?"

"Well, sure, I guess I love him. That doesn´t mean I get along with him. Well, lately I get along with him, but too much. All the _spice _has gone out of our relationship, you know?"

"You mean to tell me you like things better when you´re fighting with him over something?" asked Christine, incredulous.

Meg was silent a moment, as she thought out her answer.

"Well, yeah, I guess so. I guess I kind of like to spar – I mean, I don´t like serious _conflict, _but I don´t like to be bored, either."

"You prefer to fight over other women, over how much to tip, over money in general, over _everything?"_

"Well, maybe not _everything_…" clarified Meg.

Christine looked at her as though she had just descended from an enemy spaceship.

"You have to be _nuts! _Raoul has to drive you crazy in order to excite you?"

"I wouldn´t put it _that way…_"

"How, exactly, would you put it, then?" snarled Christine.

"Look, Christine – I´m not like you, okay? I like a little tension in a relationship. I _like _a little drama, but at least I admit it. Raoul is the kind of guy who drives women crazy. So, think of it this way: we´re perfect for each other."

"I can´t believe this! I must be the most boring person on earth, by your standards!"

"No, Christine, not at all! Don´t you see that you and I complement each other? You´re patient, really stable, and you listen to me. I really enjoy that…"

"But if Raoul behaves the same way, you get bored with him!"

"A lover is not the same as a friend!" snapped Meg. "And Raoul is beyond boring lately. I have to tell you, there is a very serious problem with his behaviour lately…"

She trailed off, hesitating to say more.

"What´s wrong?" Christine prompted, forcing herself into calmness.

"He…he doesn´t look at women anymore, but he seems to be looking at _men_, Christine…" Meg began quietly.

Christine felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, and there was a roaring in her ears. A sudden suspicion flooded her thoughts, and she missed some of what Meg was saying.

"…and we were out the other day at the restaurant, and he couldn´t take his eyes off the waiter. We´ve slept together a couple of times lately, but he just isn´t as _enthusiastic _as he was before…"

Christine continued to nod and issue neutral comments, but she was boiling within. _Erik! What have you done?_

_

* * *

  
_

Erik was seated at his desk, and he did not even raise his eyes from his work when Christine stormed into the house and slammed the door. He had resented her leaving him to go out to lunch with her friend, and it was clear that he planned to punish her with a façade of indifference.

Christine stood in the middle of the study for a moment, her fists clenched as she watched Erik write.

"Erik…"

Stony silence. He continued to write.

"Erik, when you hypnotized Raoul, you went a bit too far."

"No. Only as far as necessary." This in cold, clipped tones, without so much as an upward glance. He continued his work.

"His sexual inclinations have changed completely!"

"It´s no more than he deserves."

"Deserves? Erik, what has Raoul ever done to you?"

"You loved him, once."

"That´s ridiculous. It was nothing more than a childish crush, and you know it. Anyhow, it wasn´t his fault. It all ended when you came along."

"I saw the way you looked at him once, Christine. I _saw _it."

"That time at the Ball? You must be joking! I had just met you. How would you like it if I brought up old bones, Erik? What if I froze you for the way you treated me at our first meeting? That would be just as fair as what you´re doing now!"

"You _know _I was not myself then!" he roared, throwing down his pen and looking up at her, his eyes blazing. "You _know _now how I truly felt!"

"And you know now how _I_ feel, Erik…" said Christine quietly. Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up, sighing.

"Christine?" It was Rose´s voice, but she was not herself. She sounded frantic and breathless.

"Rose, are you okay?"

"No…no, I´m not. Look, could you meet me in a few minutes at the ob/gyn´s? You know, the one on Sixth Street?"

"Oh my God, Rose, what´s happened? Where´s Nadir?"

"_Don´t tell him anything! _Just please come, would you?"

"Yes…yeah, I´ll be right there."

* * *

Christine sat in the waiting room, flipping through the pages of the magazine she had picked up. "Is Your Man _Really _from Mars? Take this Quick Quiz and Find Out!" screamed one article she browsed, which went on to categorize types of men by different planets in the Solar System – with the exception of Venus, which was under exclusively female ownership. Just as she was arriving at Neptune, Rose emerged from the back – she was shaking, and her eyes were red. The doctor was at her elbow with a worried expression, murmuring something reassuring to her.

Christine hurried towards Rose.

"A miscarriage," Rose said bluntly. "I´m supposed to rest, and I´m bleeding a lot…" She started to sob. "This is completely _normal, _completely _natural, _she said…"

"Rose, I´m so sorry," said Christine, pulling her into a quick embrace. As proud and armoured as Rose usually was, she welcomed the contact, and lost herself in sobs.

Christine rubbed her back and murmured words that were not likely to be of comfort, but which would have to suffice.

"Nadir won´t have any reason to be with me now," she rasped.

"That´s ridiculous, Rose. He loves you!"

"First, I get pregnant. Now, _this_," continued Rose, oblivious. "I bet I can´t even have children. I bet I´m defective."

"Please, Rose! First of all, it was a miscarriage, which means practically nothing. Also, do you think a woman who can´t have kids biologically is somehow _defective_?"

"He might actually _want _kids someday…" Rose hiccoughed, but she looked up at Christine, who had gone completely stiff and followed her gaze to the doorway. Nadir had just entered.

"You told him!" Rose said to Christine accusingly.

"No, Rose, I didn´t. It must have been Erik," she said.

"I don´t know how I would ever live without him," said Nadir as he approached. "At least _he _deigns to keep me informed of things sometimes."

He gave Christine a long, eloquent look which told her that she was no longer needed.

"I´ll .. just be going now, Rose," she said, feeling herself dismissed. "I´ll call later."

Christine glanced back once, and saw that Rose was now in Nadir´s arms. Whatever Nadir was murmuring in her ear seemed to work far greater comfort on Rose than Christine´s empty platitudes had.

* * *

Christine entered the study and, picking up her laptop, began the process of catching up on e-mails. She was almost happy to find that Erik was not there, as she felt too angry and resentful to speak with him with an acceptable degree of civility.

_Marlene McCoy. Now, what can I say to her? _Marlene was a college friend now living on the West Coast, and Christine had been neglectful about communicating with her for weeks. What to say?

_Marlene, _she began, and felt Erik come in. She refused to look up or acknowledge him in any way, and she forged ahead.

_So much has happened in these past few weeks. Where do I begin? _

"Christine," Erik´s voice demanded. She did not even look up, and she pretended to be absorbed in her correspondence.

_First of all, please forgive me for being so out of touch lately. I can honestly say I´ve been very busy._

"Christine, you are not too busy to acknowledge me," Erik´s voice continued, metallic underneath its softness.

_I´ve gotten married. There, I´ve said it! I´m sorry I didn´t tell you, but it was an elopement, really, and very few people were present. My husband…_

"I am your husband, Christine…" The tension in his voice had increased slightly.

…_is both a businessman and an artist. __I think you would like him…_

"…and I shall _not_ accept this!" Christine was aware of Erik standing directly behind her, in full view of the screen.

…_especially if you like domineering, manipulative men who ignore you when they feel like it but go ballistic if you ignore THEM!_

"Look at me, Christine!" he hissed, and it was now impossible not to. His face was inches from hers, and his eyes were blazing. Something about her feigned indifference towards him had driven Erik over the edge. They locked gazes for a long moment, glaring at each other, and Christine could not restrain her anger. She lifted her chin defiantly and quickly hit the "send" button.

* * *

"How do you feel now?" asked Nadir as Rose gradually awakened. Darkness had fallen already, and she sighed. The end of the day – _its death_, Rose thought – added to her melancholy.

"Fine," she said, and managed a smile. Nadir handed her a hot cup of tea.

"Drink it – it´s special, and it will make you feel better, guaranteed." He leaned forward conspiratorially, although there was no one else in the room, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "It´s one of Erik´s special brews."

She sat up, accepting the cup, and Nadir joined her on the bed and placed his arm gingerly around her shoulder, careful not to upset the drink.

"I should not tell you this, Rose, but I suppose I must," Nadir began, with the air of someone prefacing something. Rose waited expectantly, her heart suddenly in her throat.

"I have adored the ladies for years, as you have no doubt heard. No, don´t bother to say anything, Rose – I know my reputation precedes me. I have adored a great many ladies who have done me the inestimable favour of adoring me in return. I have experienced many sweet romances in my time, and I now enjoy many lasting feminine friendships."

Rose swallowed bile along with her tea, expecting the worst.

"Yet, much as I adore women in general, not one of them compares to you, Rose."

She froze in amazement, staring at him in wonder.

"I was more than happy to assist you with your predicament because of my feelings for you, my dear. I am a gentleman, but I am not a saint. Now I find myself in the habit of caring for you, and it´s a pleasure that I do not wish to lose now that your physical condition has changed."

"I _miscarried, _Nadir. You can say it," she said, almost reflexively. Nadir winced slightly, and took her free hand in one of his.

"Rose, I would like you to leave that horrifying apartment of yours and sleep here with me, where you belong. You could move in with me – we could marry, if you would consent to it. I would love and care for you. I would only ask, in return, that you _be yourself_. Why are you wearing makeup now, and those atrociously stylish clothes? You nearly killed me on New Year´s Eve…"

"I thought you might like it…" Rose began.

"I want you as you are, Rose. I love _you."_

_

* * *

  
_

"_Domineering?" _snarled Erik, looming over Christine.

"That´s what I´d call it, yes," she responded coolly. "You don´t like to socialize, and you refuse to understand when I wish to entertain or go out with friends. I´m surprised that now that we´re married, now that you have what you wanted, you can´t cut me some slack!"

"I have given you _everything, _Christine. You decided to marry me, yes – you _conceded _me that immense favour, but only after I had made it clear that I was willing to set you free – to send you on the journey of your life, without me, although it would have meant the very death of me!"

He grasped her by the shoulders roughly, though Christine noticed he was still in control of himself.

"And now you would call me domineering! What a hypocrite we are, my love!" he hissed.

The color drained from Christine´s face. "Is that what you´ve been thinking all this time?"

His eyes were fixed on hers, waiting – something in her pallid demeanor had pierced through his rage, and he was very much in control of himself now.

"I suppose I should have told you that I decided I wanted to marry you _before _you gifted me with that trip. I was surprised when you gave me that gift, but it did not influence my decision in any way – it just convinced me even more that we were right together. That we _are _right together, Erik. Ask Auntie Val, if you want to – I called her so that she would arrange the wedding long before you gave me the itinerary."

He held her to himself, then, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"Forgive me, Christine. Please forgive me. I _am _proud, and difficult, and I know that I am domineering," he murmured, his voice gentle and musical once more.

"I love you, too, Erik. But could I ask one teeny-weeny favour?"

"Anything, my love."

"Could you please rewire Raoul again so that he goes back to normal?"

"_Normal? _That would be an improvement…"

"You know what I mean! He needs to be _himself _again!"

"Very well."

* * *

Raoul walked through the Modern and towards Erik´s home unhurriedly. He entertained himself along the way to look appreciatively at some of the burlier stagehands. They looked back at him with frank hostility and hurried away. _But where are they going? Never mind_! He needed to go to see Christine. Meg had insisted on it, and he loved Meg, even if that love was becoming gradually more platonic.

Christine opened the door when he arrived this time.

"Hey, Raoul! How are you…how are you feeling?" she asked, looking at him in concern.

"Great! I´ve never felt better! Um…why do you ask?" he said, looking at himself worriedly.

"Well, you just seem kind of … different. Are those designer pants?"

"Oh…well, yeah! You noticed! Yeah, I suddenly woke up to the way I was looking. Don´t you think I´m better this way?"

"…and one of your ears is pierced now, I see," observed Christine. "And your haircut…"

Raoul touched a hand to his temple proudly. He did not dare run his hand through his hair – the style was too expensive.

He looked across the room and noticed Erik standing there, watching him. This time, he stared back. He had never before appreciated the style and elegance of the man: his tall, lean, muscular form, his long legs, even the elegant mask…and that wonderful hair! He scarcely noticed, however, that Erik was now growling at him.

"Oh, my God!" said Christine, placing a hand on her forehead as if to stave off a headache. "Erik, please…remember whose fault this is!"

"Whose fault what is?" Raoul inquired, finally turning to look at Christine. "Why did you want to see me, Christine?"

"I´ll explain in a minute. Why don´t you sit down on that sofa – yes, right there! – and I´ll get you a nice drink, while you chat with Erik, okay?"

"Okay," he said, looking at Erik cheerfully. "So," he asked him, "Who makes your suits for you?"


	29. Chapter 29

**Well, I was hoping that this chapter would be the last one, but it´s not. One more chapter after this (I think!) and the story will be done. Thanks for your patience.**

**Many thanks to those who have so kindly reviewed. I really appreciate the feedback, especially now that things are winding down.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters. **

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Christine returned from the kitchen to bring Raoul the light soda he had requested and halted in the doorway of the study, staring.

Raoul was sitting rigidly on the sofa with an expression of horror and repugnance on his face. His eyes were initially glassy, but he seemed to be recovering his awareness gradually, and as he did so, he began to look down at himself in wonder and revulsion.

"Jesus!" he spat, looking down at his trousers, then examining the shirt he was wearing. "Who the hell…?" His short-term memory seemed to return to him with a thud. "Oh, my God! _I _did this to myself!" He continued to sit, but he clamped a hand over his mouth and rocked back and forth slightly.

Erik was standing a distance away from Raoul, watching this gradual awakening with amusement.

"You…you made him _himself _again?" Christine asked.

"Yes. Under the circumstances, I did it rather quickly." Erik shuddered slightly. "His memory has been left completely intact."

"You mean he remembers the way he…behaved?"

"He does," said Erik, a malicious glint in his eye.

Christine turned her attention to Raoul again, assessing him worriedly. He seemed to be in the throes of some physical reaction – _nausea? _Suddenly, he bolted from the sofa and looked wildly around him. Christine realized what was about to happen.

"The bathroom…" she began, gesturing towards the hallway.

But it was too late. Raoul ran to a corner and vomited copiously into an umbrella stand.

"Oh, dear," sighed Christine, watching him helplessly.

Raoul retched several times more, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He turned to look at Christine, his face flushed.

"_You _did this to me?" he asked her, his countenance shifting between hurt and accusation.

"Well, not exactly, but it _was _my fault, Raoul. When you came to talk with me about Meg…"

"_That´s _when it started! What the _hell _did you do to me?" he interrupted.

"Well, I just wanted you to stand a better chance with her, Raoul, so I fixed things so that you would lose that habit of looking at women so much…"

"_Lose _it? I lost more than that! And do you know what I _have _now?" He started rifling through his pockets, and he withdrew two slips of paper from his pants pocket. "Phone numbers!"

"Phone numbers?"

"Phone numbers, Christine – from _men! _From two men who expect to hear from me. Oh, God…One of them is _huge…_! How could you do this to me?"

"_I _hypnotized you, boy," Erik cut in, all smoothness and ice, "and I´ll thank you to stop blaming my wife. You´ve ruined two perfectly good umbrellas…"

"_You! _Why?"

"You know perfectly well why," Erik hissed.

"_Please_…" Christine intervened. "Raoul, I just wanted to help. And then Erik decided to play a little joke on you…"

"A little joke? _A little joke_?" sputtered Raoul. "Do you have any idea how your _little joke _has affected my job? There´s a senior partner who wants to date me!"

Erik´s laughter did little to soothe Raoul´s ruffled feathers.

"I _did _do as you asked me to, Raoul. I _did _ask Meg how she felt about marriage," Christine ventured in an awkward attempt to pacify him.

"Really?" asked Raoul, caught off-guard. "What did she say?"

Christine winced. "I think her exact words were…´_Are you kidding´?_"

Raoul turned a deep shade of crimson and stared at Christine for a long moment before turning on his heel and marching out of the house, pointedly slamming doors as he went.

She sighed. "I had been really hoping that that would go well…"

"Do you think it didn´t?" asked Erik blithely. He seated himself at the piano and launched into something staccato and whimsical, smiling to himself contentedly. Christine watched him, deep in thought.

* * *

Raoul´s anger simmered into lasting resentment, and Christine neither saw him nor spoke with him for weeks, much to Erik´s delight. She and Meg were as close as ever, but Raoul made it a point never to appear whenever he knew Christine would be present.

"He´ll come around," Meg said. "Just give him time, and promise not to leave him alone with your husband ever again!"

Christine hesitated for a moment, considering what to say. Though she did not particularly _miss _Raoul, she hated the idea of being on bad terms with anyone, and more especially with an old friend. Besides, what had once been a suspicion had now hardened into conviction.

"This is the way Erik wanted it," she said, finally.

"What?" asked Meg.

"When Erik played that joke on Raoul, he wanted to do more than humiliate him. He wanted him to become so upset with me that we´d never be on speaking terms again, he and I."

"That´s crazy! How can anyone be so …manipulative?" Meg began. Then she considered for a second. "Wait…scratch that! If it´s Mr. DeJongh we´re talking about, then maybe you´re right…"

"I´m afraid I am, Meg. I´m beginning to know my husband very well, and he´s always a few steps ahead of other people. Do you know what it´s like to play chess with him? It´s next to impossible. He´s always thought out all the probabilities and possibilities of whatever may happen _three moves ahead! _So, it´s pretty obvious he planned for Raoul to be very angry with me."

Meg smiled. "Do you think he knows that you´ve figured it out?"

"I really don´t know," Christine admitted. "Even when he´s not looking at me, he´s looking at me, you know?"

"So you spend the day studying each other?" chortled Meg.

"Hey! We´re on honeymoon!" responded Christine, laughing.

"Yeah. Right. Well, I´ll tell Raoul what you think, okay? He should be told that he´s fallen into another little trap. Speaking of which, did I tell you we´re moving in together?"

"Really? Meg, I´m amazed! I didn´t think you wanted to commit in any way…"

"It´s not that! I´m just not too thrilled about the idea of marriage. Anyway, this is kind of a compromise, because Raoul wanted to get hitched and I didn´t," Meg said, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, now you two can fight over who has to do the dishes instead of how much to tip," Christine pointed out.

"He´d better be ready to do some dishes!" snapped Meg.

"I see the stage is set," murmured Christine.

"What?"

"Nothing, Meg. Nothing."

* * *

Nadir entered Erik´s study several evenings later and, after quickly hanging his coat on a stand, searched the room for someplace to leave his umbrella.

"What happened to your umbrella stand?"

"Good evening to you, too, Nadir," responded Erik from the desk where he was working. "The umbrella stand is no more."

"Well!" said Nadir, in mock wonder, "Things have changed indeed when _you _are the person correcting _my_ manners! But it´s a splendid change. I take it that marriage agrees with you?"

"It does," said Erik, without looking up from his work.

"He _speaks _with me now!" exalted Nadir. "Can I attribute this miracle to connubial bliss?"

"At least in part," replied Erik. "However, you have been absent from my study for so many weeks now that you have actually become a novelty again." He looked over at Nadir and offered him a tight smile.

"We´ve seen each other at work often enough," Nadir sighed. "_Too_ much, I think."

"Are your new responsibilities weighing too heavily on you, then? I´ve told you to delegate wherever you see fit," said Erik, scowling.

"And I _am _delegating the responsibilities. I´ve hired two new assistant directors, as you know, but it will take some time to break them in, and I must tell you, Erik, that there is no substitute for _you. _Once you embark on your sabbatical, the quality of our productions will inevitably suffer."

"I know that. Do you think I´m a fool? I merely want things to be run well enough so that, when Christine and I return, I will be able to take up the reins again with a minimal amount of effort," said Erik, leaning back in his chair slightly.

"Your plan is still to be gone for an entire year?"

"That is my plan. A year in Europe with Christine," Erik confirmed. The slightest of smiles was the only visible hint of his excitement at the prospect, but Nadir knew how to read Erik – and knew that he was happy indeed.

"Well, then!" exhaled Nadir. "That´s that, I suppose."

Nadir proceeded toward his usual armchair and sank into it, slowly unfolding his newspaper.

"I´m rather surprised that your intended could spare you this evening," commented Erik.

"She´s busy with some project of hers right now, and I suspect she´s happy for this hour alone."

"Has she finally set a date for the wedding?"

"Not yet. She wants the moon to be at a certain phase on that day, and the judge´s schedule has to coincide…"

"The _moon?_" Erik interjected, smiling his contempt. "Tell me, Nadir…"

"No, Erik – now, stop right there, please. I love Rose a great deal, and I´ll not have you sneering at her!"

Erik nearly rose from his chair, ready to do battle, but he paused for a second, seemed to consider something, and sank back again, smiling. He took up his pen again.

"Speaking of the ladies," Nadir said, "where is Christine this evening?"

"She is out shopping with Miss Giry, who is at times a questionable influence on her," muttered Erik unhappily.

"Christine still hasn´t telephoned Rose, you know."

Erik was silent and continued to work.

"You did give her the message to call her, didn´t you?"

A scowl cast a slight shadow over Erik´s visible features, but he continued to write.

"You did not, then. And you´re irascible – more irascible than usual -- on the days when Christine meets Miss Giry for lunch," continued Nadir slowly, putting the puzzle pieces together. "You don´t want Christine to have friends," he concluded.

"_Of course _she should have friends, but they must respect the fact that she is married now…"

"…and not ever take her out of your sight!" snapped Nadir. "I should have _known _this might happen. Erik, you mustn´t interfere in Christine´s friendships. She would never do that to _you. _You don´t see her trying to keep me from visiting…"

"How I wish she _would!" _spat Erik.

Nadir´s answer was drowned out by the ringing of the doorbell. Both men looked at each other in surprise.

"Shall I answer that?" asked Nadir.

Erik grimaced. "If you must. Whoever it is has cleared security. Of course, _I _could answer the door personally…"

"No!" said Nadir quickly. "No, I´ll do it. I´ll never forget how you frightened that poor little Girl Scout a year ago!"

"It was for her own good. If she wishes to work successfully in a brutally capitalist economy such as ours, she must learn not to be so sensitive! Besides, that was before Christine."

"Oh."

Raoul looked surprised when Nadir answered the door, but his nervous demeanor turned to one of self-confidence instantly.

"Hi…I´m here to see Christine. Is she home yet?" he asked.

Nadir resisted the impulse to gape in amazement, but he could not help staring at Raoul for a few seconds.

"She´s not here," he said curtly.

"I´ll wait for her, then, so if you´d –"

"Her husband _is _here, however," Nadir cut in.

"I´ll wait for her, anyway," Raoul insisted, his jaw set.

Nadir forgot himself entirely and gawked at Raoul. Finally, he recovered.

"Excuse me, young fellow, but may I ask you a question?"

"Fire away!" said Raoul.

Nadir winced. "Please refrain from using the word ´fire´ right now, if you don´t mind…"

"The question?"

"Right. Have you taken leave of your senses? Granted, I never mistook you for a Rhodes Scholar, but until now you appeared to possess a healthy talent for self-preservation. Whatever happened?"

"That was _two _questions!" said Raoul cheerfully, holding up the equivalent number of fingers.

"Right," sighed Nadir in resignation. "Come in! Come in!"

Erik was still at his desk when Raoul entered the study. His pen slowed to a gradual stop, then froze in his hand as he looked slowly up. He stared at his unwelcome guest, his eyes glowing with shock and indignation.

Raoul blanched, and for a second his courage seemed to fail him. He hesitated in the middle of the room, careful to avoid touching any furniture or other objects surrounding him. When Erik suddenly shot out of his chair and hurtled towards him, he backed up several frantic steps. It was useless; Erik seized him by the shoulders.

"What the _hell _are _you _doing here?" he hissed, his fingers digging into Raoul´s flesh like talons.

"I…I´m…" began Raoul.

"Erik!" intervened Nadir. "Think of Christine!"

Erik´s glare deepened. "I _am_," he snarled.

The sound of the door opening, the rustling of bags, and the sound of feminine voices heralded Christine´s return. She entered the study, a large package in her arms, and stopped in her tracks when she saw Erik and Raoul. Meg and Rose were following her so closely that they nearly ran into her.

"Um…Erik?" inquired Christine quietly.

Erik quickly removed his hands from Raoul´s shoulders and moved away from him. His air suggested something of the child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was strangely incongruous in so powerful a man.

"Oh, it´s good to see you!" exhaled Nadir. He smiled at the women and approached Rose eagerly, offering her an affectionate kiss. "I thought you were at home, my dear."

"I _was_," she said, "until Meg and Christine came looking for me…"

"I thought it was strange that I hadn´t heard from Rose in a while," offered Christine. "Now I know why! My cell phone had been switched off – for days, it seems. Silly me!"

Yet she was looking steadily at Erik, a hint of accusation in her eyes. She turned her attention to Raoul.

"Hey, Raoul! I can´t tell you how happy I am to see you. I thought you´d be mad at me forever!"

Raoul found his courage.

"Yeah, that´s why I´m here, you know. It was stupid of me to get mad at _you_" – here, Erik glowered at him dangerously, but he continued – "and I just wanted to say I´m sorry about it. I´ll always be your friend, Christine."

Meg beamed, Erik glared, and Christine glowed with happiness. She put her package down on the floor and approached Raoul in an obvious attempt to hug him. Something stopped her short, however; it was a barrier of some kind – _String? Wire? _

Erik approached her, slowly lowering his hand, and just as the barrier seemed to disappear, he positioned himself squarely between Raoul and Christine. He seemed to be about to touch her, but something caused him to reconsider. Abject need flashed in his eyes as he gazed at her.

"Erik," Christine sighed, and she closed the distance between them to embrace him. His arms were quick to respond – he held her perhaps too tightly at first, but he gradually relaxed. She felt his lips on her forehead and the warmth of his breath against her skin.

"Wait till he sees what´s in that package," came Meg´s voice. It was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife.

Christine giggled, and Erik obligingly loosened his embrace as she bent to unwrap the package she had brought.

"Heavens!" exclaimed Nadir, smiling in spite of himself.

"Isn´t it _incredible?" _asked Rose, looking up at Nadir with laughter in her eyes.

It was a garden gnome, but done in the worst taste possible – it was either a failed attempt at kitsch or a demonstration of extremely poor taste. It was made of plastic, and its complexion was not the usual cheery-pink garden-gnome complexion, but a sallow, bilious kind of yellow. Its brow was knit in an expression which was somewhere between disgust and nausea, and its lips were distended into a permanent sneer.

"And there´s a place to put a lightbulb, so it can be lit up at night, too," explained Christine, looking coyly at Erik from under her eyelashes. She stood beside the gnome, looking at it with mock pride.

Erik quickly shrouded the gnome in the brown paper it had been packed into. He turned towards Christine.

"Why?" he croaked.

"Oh, no reason in particular," said Christine. "I was just thinking about how Rose had fallen out of touch and Raoul hated me, and I felt kind of blue. Then, when I went shopping with Meg, I saw the gnome. She and I both agreed that he would go perfectly with the way I felt."

She hesitated a moment, and Erik looked at her, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

"Of course, it doesn´t _have _to go into the garden. Now that Raoul and I are friends again, and I´m back in touch with Rose, I find that my mood just isn´t _right _for that gnome, somehow. I might even be tempted to put him in the back of the supply closet."

She approached Erik and kissed him on the unmasked side of his face, whispering something in his ear. As she was about to pull away, he stopped her, holding her by the waist.

"Yes," he said, "Of course. Your friends are welcome here whenever they wish to come, and you should visit with them whenever you wish."

"Hey! That´s great!" said Raoul, but Meg grabbed his arm and propelled him out the door just as he was about to make himself comfortable on the sofa. Rose and Nadir followed them out the door, exchanging complicit glances.

"What´s going on?" protested Raoul. Meg jerked her head back towards where Christine and Erik were, and Raoul looked back to see that the two of them had melded into an extremely close embrace. They were not yet kissing each other, but Christine was looking up at Erik -- and he down at her -- in a way that left no room for doubt.


	30. Chapter 30

**Special thanks to Tiannangel for helping me name our garden gnome. He´s the Fat Gnome of the Opera, of course!**

**

* * *

  
**

One evening in early spring, Christine returned from an outing, as easygoing and pliant as ever from her security escort´s point of view. Jillian had once even declared that, compared with other people who had been assigned to her, Christine was "a total bore." She never moved in unexpected directions, and she made it a point not to present them with any challenges. Yet today her behaviour was different. It was true that as the limousine pulled away from the Modern, she stepped briskly towards the building, as was customary with her. She stopped and looked carefully around her once the car was out of sight, though, and checked her watch. _I´m home an hour early. I don´t think anyone would notice if I struck out on my own…_

True solitude, for the first time in months. As Christine boarded a city bus, she looked around her at the general ennui, at the bored faces of tired passengers who did not even bother to glance at her as she went past them towards the back. _I remember when nobody looked at me – was it a lifetime ago, as it seems?_

She found herself in front of the Roma restaurant, compelled there by curiosity. As she entered, she noticed that it looked very much the same as it had when she had worked there – the same tablecloths, it seemed, the same strings of garlic decorating the dark walls.

It was the people who were different. The young woman at the piano was a stranger, as were all the waiters she saw. _Time stands still for no one._

"How many in your party?" The question was delivered with cheerful flatness, and Christine smiled at the waitress who stood before her, menus in hand.

"I´m sorry – I´m not here to have dinner," she responded. "I worked here once, several years ago, and I was just wondering…"

Someone had emerged from the kitchen and stopped suddenly upon seeing Christine. Her attention was drawn towards the movement, and she looked past the waitress and saw Roberto, who was looking at her with something akin to terror in his eyes.

"Hi, Roberto," she said, lifting her hand in awkward greeting. He seemed to shrink back slightly, and flight seemed a very real possibility, but he thought the better of it and walked hesitantly forward, smiling nervously.

"Something wrong, Berto?" asked the waitress, who had watched his behaviour with undisguised interest.

"Get back to work!" he spat, turning towards her, and she rolled her eyes and left.

"Ah, now _there´s _the Roberto I know and love," said Christine, but if she had hoped that her light-hearted remark would relax the man, she was sorely disappointed. He stood before her, his eyes darting around the room fearfully. Christine sighed. She knew who he was looking for.

"My husband isn´t with me. I see you´ve heard about my marriage," she said, and was relieved when Roberto finally focused his attention on her, his gaze no longer panicked.

"Yeah…yeah, I sure heard about your marriage," he said. "Look, I´d invite you to sit down, but I think maybe I´d better get back to work now…"

"I think you must have met my husband," Christine ventured. "In fact, I´m pretty sure he must have spoken with you, or you wouldn´t be behaving like this."

Roberto refused to meet her eyes. "Look, we´re very busy tonight…"

Christine´s eyes swept the room; half of the tables were empty.

"…and I´d love to talk with you, but I can´t, okay?" he continued, moving away from her. He paused for a second to look back at her. "Just one thing. I´m really sorry for the way I treated you, okay? I didn´t _want _to fire you, but I was scared!"

"Roberto! You sound like someone´s ex-boyfriend!" Christine reproached him, but he was no longer looking at her. He was staring at something above her with terror in his eyes.

"Hello, Erik," Christine said, without turning around.

"A table for two, please," Erik directed, and Roberto guided them to a secluded table in the corner, his relief upon leaving them evident.

"What are you doing here?" Erik asked, his eyes fixed on Christine´s.

"I was curious to see how the old place looked. What are you doing here?" she returned.

"I found it very odd that you bolted just as you were about to return home."

His eyes swept his surroundings, then returned to Christine. "I could buy this place for you, if you wanted, and fire that idiot of a manager."

"Heavens, no, Erik! I think you´ve done enough to him already. When did you speak with him?"

"Shortly before we married."

"You mean, back when you were feeling so frustrated? No wonder Roberto´s so scared! What did you say to him?"

"I merely lectured him on the evils of mistreating his employees, especially in _my _name. If he had been more reasonable, if he had treated you as he should have treated you, then you and I might have started on better terms."

"I don´t think so, Erik. You were at your worst the first time we met, and you made quite an impression."

"You have no idea how I regret my behaviour that evening…" Erik began, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Well, _I _don´t," interrupted Christine. "It´s true you were awful, but, you know? I´m glad things happened the way they did with us."

Erik stared at her. She had succeeded in surprising him. Nonetheless, he reached for her hand and held it within his, urging her to continue with his gaze.

"It was hard," Christine added thoughtfully, "But I learned to love you as I _know _you are, not as you wanted for me to see you. I would never have been able to stand up to you if I hadn´t been on my guard against you. I would never have gotten to know you as I do, Erik. I can honestly say it was worth it – bad beginning and all."

Erik relaxed visibly, his eyes aglow. They dined together, conversing quietly, and when it was time to leave, Erik glanced about him with a type of regret.

"Are you certain that you wouldn´t like me to buy this place? I believe that I am beginning to _like _it, much as it mortifies me to admit it."

* * *

_**Hell has frozen over, my beloveds!**_

_**That´s right. Rose is getting hitched,**_

_**And she and her darling Nade invite you to **_

_**Share in their joy at the Hedley Botanical Garden.**_

_**You know the place.**_

_**Come barefoot.**_

_**The time? Four in the afternoon,**_

_**Or whenever we decide to show up.**_

_**There will be dinner afterwards **_

_**At the Roma Italian Restaurant,**_

_**But you´d better RSVP, or **_

_**We won´t feed you.**_

_**That´s right. Bad**_

_**Manners can **_

_**Make you**_

_**Starve. **_

_**555-0956**_

Rose produced the wedding invitations herself in passionate purple typeface, with a wrap that rendered its text heart-shaped. At the bottom of the invitation, a chubby cupid pursued a terrified woman with his bow and arrow at the ready.

Nadir looked at the invitations and laughed, then proceeded to disappoint Rose by issuing different invitations, done in a more formal style, to his friends and business associates.

On the day of the wedding, he quietly set Rose´s watch an hour ahead.

Erik had accepted the honor of being Nadir´s best man with all the grace that could be expected of him – that is, none at all. He complained bitterly and openly hoped for bad weather. Only Christine´s intervention, and the fact that she would be matron of honor and thus standing nearby, appeased him.

The wedding possessed all of the social elements which were anathema to Erik – it was to take place outdoors, there was to be a large group of people, and he was to stand at the front, in full view of everyone.

"I think it´s the first time Rose has been on time for anything," confided Christine to Meg as they surveyed the people who had assembled in the folding chairs. It was a beautiful day, and a slight breeze stirred the wisteria vines which formed an enormous blooming canopy over the congregation, trained as it was into a huge trellised framework. The bees hummed lazily.

"Would you look at the difference between the bride´s side and the groom´s side?" chortled Meg.

It was true: there was a notable difference. The guests on the bride´s side had arrived in jeans and other informal attire, and they were all barefoot. The guests on the groom´s side wore such formal suits and dresses as befit an afternoon wedding. People on each side of the impromptu aisle were darting suspicious glances at the opposite side, and there was a low murmur of voices which nearly drowned out the droning of the bees in the wisteria. Christine noticed that Erik had assumed his place and was standing, tall and imposing, at the front. His elegant presence drew attention, but he refused to look at people, and preferred to glare over their heads and into the distance. Nadir appeared, and Christine could not help noticing how relaxed he seemed. He looked at the congregation affably, smiling and nodding at certain friends. One would never have guessed that Nadir Khan was not in the habit of getting married every day. _The groom is relaxed – it's the best man who´s nervous!_

"There´s our cue," said Christine, relieved, when the guitarist, himself a barefoot friend of Rose´s, started to play and sing "Time in a Bottle," the Jim Croce tune which Rose had picked for her wedding.

"Wait! Don´t run! You need to act dignified," hissed Christine as she and Meg restrained Rose – she was aglow with happiness, and appeared to have forgotten herself completely; she was completely prepared to run down the aisle ahead of her bridesmaid and matron of honor.

"Dignified, my ass!" retorted Rose, but she fell into step behind Meg and Christine.

The couple stood before the judge, finally – Nadir immaculate in a three-piece suit and Italian shoes, and Rose in a gauzy, really summery, white cotton dress and a wreath of mock-orange blossoms in her loose blonde hair. She stood, barefoot in the soft green grass, and Nadir nearly laughed with joy at the sight of her.

Nadir vowed to love, honor and cherish Rose – nothing novel, nothing extraordinary, but Rose was content.

"It´s my turn," said Rose, when it came time for her to offer her vows.

"I promise _not _to do certain things, Nadir," she began. "I promise not to forget what you mean to me, now or ever. I promise not to be cynical about love, ever again. And I promise not to sing when you´re around, because I know how very much it hurts your ears!"

Part of the congregation looked shocked, and part of it chuckled. Nadir simply beamed and kissed his bride.

* * *

The wedding party arrived at the Roma ahead of the guests, and the women freshened up in the ladies´ room before joining the men.

"So, Meg, when will you and Raoul tie the knot?" Christine asked teasingly.

"Never, I hope! You know what the latest is?" Meg responded, pausing between sentences to touch up her lipstick.

"What´s the latest, then?"

"He got a dog. I wanted a cat, and he sneaked off in the dead of night and came back with a dog. And do you know what kind of dog he got?"

"No idea!"

"A Saint Bernard! I mean, it´s still a puppy now, but those things grow _big…_"

"…and they hate hot weather," added Rose. "I´d have gotten a mutt from the pound."

"Yeah, me, too. And guess who´s feeding the dog and taking him for walks?"

"I think we can guess," Christine sighed.

They joined the men at the table, and as they approached, Erik and Nadir stood up and pulled chairs out for Christine and Rose. Raoul remained seated, merely glancing at Meg briefly, then returning his attention to the wine list. Meg stood beside him for a moment, glaring at him significantly, then hit him on the head with her purse.

"_What_?!" exclaimed Raoul, caught completely by surprise.

"Nothing," Meg sighed, and seated herself.

The restaurant was soon filled with members of the wedding party, and as the wine flowed, the atmosphere between the bohemians and Nadir´s more conservative guests began to thaw. Several people attempted to speak with Erik, but he cut each attempt at conversation short and insisted on spending the evening in intimate conversation with Christine, though he directed a few comments at Nadir. Finally, he stood up and regarded all those present with his cool gaze. It was sufficient to silence the room.

"I am obliged by tradition, it seems, to propose a toast," he began, gesturing towards Nadir and Rose with the glass of Chianti he held in his hand. "Very well, then.: Ladies and gentleman, I toast the loss of my favourite antique. May his hearth be filled with such happiness that he forgets his way to mine…and may he always have better wine at his table than the insipid juice with which I now toast him. To the happy couple!"

This was met with a collective sigh, assent and applause, not so much for the toast itself as for the spell cast by Erik´s melodic voice.

"Now that was touching, Erik – touching indeed," said Nadir. "And speaking of happiness, have you two finished packing, Christine?"

"I think so. I keep thinking of last-minute things, though. Two days left…" she mused, her eyes wandering the room dreamily, observing her friends. Her gaze settled on the piano just as Erik demanded her attention once more.

"I know what the words mean now!" she told him archly. She indicated the piano and whispered something in her huband´s ear.

They rose and went to the piano, and the room fell silent as Erik played the introduction to "Giuro d'amore." His eyes never left his wife, and as she began to sing – _only for him!_ -- he smiled at her, enraptured.

_Eterno Amore e fè,_

_ti giuro umile ai piè,_

_ti giuro eterna fè,_

_presente Iddio, ti giuro amor,_

_ti giuro fè, presente Iddio._

_Viver, morir per te_

_è il solo ben che a me_

_dal ciel desio__._

_

* * *

  
_

Eternal love and faithfulness,

I vow to you humbly at your feet,

I vow eternal faithfulness --

In the presence of God, I vow my love for you,

to you I swear faithfulness, in the presence of God.

To live, to die for you

is the only good thing I wish for myself from Heaven.

* * *

**Well, I´m not terribly happy with the ending of this story. I may revise it, but this is it for now, I think. **

**I would like to thank everyone who has read this story. It requires patience to read the work of a novice writer such as myself!**

**Most of all, I would like to offer my humblest thanks to all those who have reviewed. It´s not easy to review a story – I know, I´ve done it myself! It requires time, thought and tact, and I certainly appreciate all those who have gone to all the trouble to send me their feedback. **

**Thank you so very much! xoxoxo**


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